We’re picking up steam in the garden. Seth and I gathered another quart-sized jar worth of sweet peas, which are starting to die out in all this heat. They’re tangled up with the bean vines, so I am careful with the clippers as I clear out the bed to give the beans room to grow. Problem is it looks as though someone is tatting lace with my bean leaves. It would be nice if I knew which bug to blame. There’s got to be a book out there called 1001 Garden Pests and How to Murder Them All or something. When we started this garden, Seth insisted we should let the pests be because they’re just doing what they do. But now that 80 percent of our bean vines are dying, his tune has changed and he grumbles like the rest of us. The rest of us being me.
We didn’t stay too long today, just long enough to give everything a good water after a week of 100 degree heat, and to pick our precious tomatoes. We dole them out like rations. If I had my way, I’d eat them every meal, but I guess it’s fair that Seth gets some too.