Tasks Of A Summer Day

My gardens are getting that disheveled late-summer look. It's not weeds so much as a kind of floppy over-ripeness—stems growing so long that they keel over, flowers going to seed faster than I can dead-head them, leaves showing the depredations of snails and beetles.

The vegetable garden was practically moaning to be harvested, so I went out and picked and washed and blanched and quick-cooled and froze the following:

Peas—I'd hoped that pea season was over, but no. Although the bottoms of the plants are drying up, the tops are still blooming and producing.

Zucchini—I'm scared of my zucchini plant. It is huge, and to get the squashes I have to reach deep into its inner recesses, and in the process it stabs me with its nasty, stiff little hairs. Also, many of the zucchini rot when they are a few inches long, which means that to get the healthy ones I often end up with dead-zucchini juice all over my hands.

Broccoli—Keeps going all summer in this latitude.

Kale—Filled my basket with it and barely made a dent.

Swiss Chard—Ditto.

I should go out and harvest again today, but I'm afraid of what I'll find.

Why am I complaining? I love all this bounty and exuberance. I remind myself of those mothers of rambunctious sons who glow with pride as they bemoan their kids' antics.