I walked the yard tonight--the first time since getting back from Maine. This weekend I'll be playing "catch-up"--getting back on top of what one week's neglect can do.
My herb garden that I had been so proud of restoring this spring, is now overgrown with phlox. At least it's pretty--even with bindweed lacing the tall strands together. And hiding underneath a very unruly mint-like creature is the re-emerging poison ivy I was sure I was finished with. The ivy, apparently, disagrees.
The weeks of summer sun have toughened the tender, green sprigs into leathery, stubborn ropes. I'm not looking forward to wrestling with it, but if I turn away--all of this spring's efforts will have been wasted. A garden demands an attentive keeper.
My new delphinium has started to blossom--icy colors on delicate, wispy petals that seem as if they'd fry in the late summer sun. There they stand. Trying not to be swallowed by their pushy neighbors.
Tenderness is rare in a late summer garden.
And in the field, although the milkweed has become old and toughened, a tiny caterpillar cruises along in search of a tender meal.
He seems to know that new, green leaf is meant just for him.
He's looked it over carefully--front, back and top.
But where do you take the first bite?
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