It is summer already, I think. Certainly feels like it most of the time, which is why the clematis didn’t stay in bloom as long as it usually does.
I spent the last two days waiting for rain, but despite stormy clouds the sky is reluctant to release the water it promised. I can only hope the high humidity in the air will keep the plants from wilting for now.
Everything is over-sized, due no doubt to the the rain from previous weeks and the diligence with which I apply organic fertilizer, but so far the result is mostly foliage.
The fickle weather makes me uneasy and restless, as if I forgot to do something important, so I go through the chore list again: weeding, check, planting, check, staking, check, pruning, check, feeding, too much already. The sun hid behind the clouds, leaving me strangely relieved, and when it came out again I realized what made me anxious: this is the kind of weather my grandfather loathed, sunshine through the rain, because it creates the most favorable conditions for black spot. I wish those storm clouds reached dew point already.
On a happier note, everything is right on schedule, well developed and healthy; we’ll probably see flowers on the veggies in a week or so. Judging by the good start the plants got, this year is going to see a good harvest.
Gardening is an art that demands patience. No matter how much you want or need a plant to do something it will not oblige a second sooner than its internal schedule dictates. I reached the wisdom to appreciate what they do, not what I wish they did.