Summer's end

The garden is coming to its end. The nights have turned cold and we had a hefty frost the other night. Stephen and I covered the tender plants that we weren’t willing to lose—basil, peppers, tomatoes, and zucchini—and left the others to fend for themselves.

The string beans, which were virtually done, and the yellow squash have met their timely ends. I cover and uncover the others each night now, unwilling to take a risk that the temperature will drop.

Even with the sheet covering, the tops of the basil and green pepper plants got nipped. Today, I trimmed off those burned basil leaves to encourage healthy growth. I cut off the flowers as well, forcing the plant to continue to put forth new leaves. I think about how not allowing something to bloom forces it to continue to try and wonder if there is a truism for other beings. I think not, at least not one that I would want to experiment with.

Stephen tells me that the weather will turn warm again and that last year he made pesto in October. We search for a good salsa recipe and learn a bit about how to can a low-acid food. I look through the Blue Ball Canning Jar Book, which sports a copyright of 1962, reading about how to freeze carrots and beets, and think about a time when families did the bulk of their own food preservation.

What a relief commercially preserved food would have been then. Now I walk around the grocery store, reading labels and putting all sorts of food back on the shelf, unwilling to digest the level of chemicals being presented.

I smile with the thought of the garden, and how well it has fed us, and many others, these past months and how it will continue to sustain us through some of the winter. As it moves closer to its end, it becomes ever more precious.

I look forward to tending it as it ends, and making preparations for another season.