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| From the garden: basil, tomatoes, and peppers |
Our first frost came early Sunday morning. I had been watching the alerts from Saturday morning forward, so I intentionally spent an hour outside Saturday afternoon picking every last pepper and then pulling this year's pepper plants up to go into the yard waste.
That hour in the garden revealed in no uncertain terms just how much I have neglected the garden this year. The chickweed was everywhere, and that is not me being careless with my words. It truly was everywhere. As I uprooted the peppers, I pulled lots of it too.
There is still a lot of chickweed plants thriving. A. Lot. Frankly, the chickweed looks better than the pretty beat up looking flowers in the back of the garden. Somewhere in that mess are the remains of one last head of cabbage that got chewed up by bugs before I picked it. And to add insult to injury, for the first time ever, the marigold border is ragged with many marigolds dead. Warren has always taken care of the marigolds, so their neglect speaks to how overloaded his schedule is too.
Despite the wreckage, I brought in enough peppers to store four quarts of cut peppers in the freezer, besides the additional cup or so for a dish I made last night for supper.
I clipped back the tomatoes some more, gauging what I may still pick. A few of the larger ones; a few dozen of the cherries. If the weather holds to be fairly mild, if the sun shines, that is.
I made the decision several weeks ago to let the basil go to flower for the bees. All the same, I handpicked a large bowl of leaves and made one last batch of pesto for 2026. (No surprise, the chickweed surrounded the basil patch, although for the most part the basil easily topped the chickweed in height.)
Sigh.
I am truly on the fence as to how much gardening to do next year. On the one hand, I love fresh tomatoes and peppers. The flowers (cosmos, zinnias, others) cheer me and make our pollinators and birds happy. On the other hand, I need more energy—physical and emotional—to make it viable.
Sigh.
In another week or so, I will take both a hoe and a rake to the chickweed and remove as much as possible. Chickweed seeds rapaciously, so you cannot just till it under. But we can and will put compost on the garden and till that under afterwards.
As Saturday wore on, the air chilled even more. Warren, an hour away for the dress rehearsal and concert in Mansfield, called to see if I had seen the moon: a silvery waxing half moon. Yes, I replied, adding that I had just put sheets over the tomatoes given the frost warnings.
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| Ready for the frost |
As always, once the garden is officially down for the year, not only in production but also in cleanup, I will think about what 2027 might hold. I feel I can do better and that is something I need to seriously contemplate. The oncoming winter is a perfect time to look back at the 2026 garden and wonder what I might try in 2027.
And the moon can look over my shoulder all winter long to keep me on track.
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| Saturday night's moon |
2 comments:
That is a tremendous amount if work. I will keep on with my pots and raised bed but that's as much gardening as I'll do I think.
Exactly. My dear Aunt Gail (age 90) who still gardens ferociously out in southern California, was a bit taken aback when I told her that I had to tromp through the chickweeds to get to the peppers. She did not come out and say it, but her tone was "Really, April? Really? You need to weed EVERY day." Nope.
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