Oh, glorious August.
I trudged down the side of the hill today, as I do everyday in the summer, to the only flat area that affords space for my garden. My rubber boots and gloves fortifying me for my venture. I carried a pair of pliers and some wire in my pocket.
My Buena Ventura .
I found the first ripe tomatoes of huge proportions. So red and sweet and juicy, it was all I could do to wait to bring them up to mi casa. The zuccini plants grow like weeds. I have been able to pick about twenty or thirty everyday and take what I can not possibly use to the farmer's market on Tuesdays. Cucumbers, peppers of all varieties, fire and size, lettuces colored green and red, Romaine and Kale, cabbages, sweet peas and carrots. I admit, I often crunch on a carrot after I rinse it with the hose. Who could resist?
This is the best time of the year.
The sunlight still lasts well until 9 PM. The cool air becomes crisp and a warm jacket is welcomed and wrapped around me by 9:30. Each night I sit on the deck overlooking the garden and the mountians across the rise, a cup of tea as a companion. The pond down my hill reflects the moonlight revealing the activity of deer, raccoons and waterfowl that come to drink and refresh at the end of the day.
The night sky is so full of stars, I am challenged to pick out the constellations.
The corn will be ready to harvest another few weeks, yellow corn so succulent it melts in your mouth. Corn on the cob and burgers with ripe strawberries in cream for dessert will soon be on the dinner table. The raspberries fill the bushes so thickly, I have sold a dozen flats of them each week since July. They burst with juice and delicious sweet flavor.
I did have to do a bit of repairs on the deer fence today. Deer come down and valliantly tried to get a taste of all my garden treasures. Without the deer fence, there would be nothing left after one incursion. There was a tear and a pucker but no breach this time. The rabbit fencing is holding despite those tenacious rodent's razor-like teeth.
I watered the garden with my well water. I have a hand pump that I have to prime and then it flows easily. My bicep is more delevoped on my pumping arm these days. Water is sweet and pure here in Questa. The winter snows refill the aquifer each year and even with a lesser snowfall this past year, it was more than enough to get great pressure on the well.
After two hours of bagging vegetables and the repairs and weeding each row, I rinsed and cleaned each beautiful piece of glory from the earth, throwing the leavings in the compost pile. I turned the compost with my old pitchfork and then I returned up the hill, pushing my wheel barrow. I could feel the muscles in my back, my arms, my legs straining and growing stronger. (I might actually have a great ass at the end of the summer! Oh vanity, thy name is woman). Each day the load will be a litlle larger and heavier to cart.
Once I had finished prepping all the veggies in bags and into the extra fridge in the garage, I lovingly washed and rinsed the tomoatoes.
One I sliced and gently place it on the saucer, sprinkled the slices with salt, pepper and a crushed leaf of basil from my herb garden and made love in my mouth to the most beautiful delicacy of the summer.
The end of the perfect day.
The beginning of all the bounty of vegetables and nourishment to last through the winter. In less than a month, I will be canning all the veggies. some will go in the root cellar, and setting up preserves from the berries that have been in plentitude this summer.
Fall will come quickly the end of September, the snows will follow in October, by November, the elk will migrate down the mountains, the painters (mountain lions) and bears will amble through looking for sustenance.
I will sit on the deck, a hot mug of cocoa to warm my hands, in the fading warmth of the early afternoon, looking out over the snow dusted landscape and see the pond is almost frozen. The wildlife that share my world will come to the water and refresh at the end of the day.
The end of a perfect day.
Each day here is the perfect day.
Each season the perfect time of the year.
Catherine (c) 2011