Every year, I delude myself that this is the year that it will all be different. I become an eager recruit to the conceit that I will keep control of the weeds, that by August, they will not tower over the vegetable raised beds, and the manifold glories of a well-kept and productive garden will be mine.
Dream on, beautiful dreamer. Sometime near the end of July, we’ll either go on a mini-vacation, work will get intense, or a commission in the shop will occupy my attention. At that moment, the weeds will leap into reproductive and vegetative super production. The paths between beds will erupt in non-edible greenery and, at last, spread to the bases of the squash.
One day, I’ll come to the garden and realize that the weeds are waving in the late August breeze, tall and triumphant. Yes, I’ll say that the garden is wildly productive despite the weeds. But the weeds won again.
However, it’s spring, and I’m allowed a few conceits. This will be the year that I keep control of the weeds.