Reposted from Writer Unleashed (7/26/2009)

I achieved two things today in the garden: heat stroke and a third degree sunburn on my face.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. My face IS red, though, and the red isn’t going away like it usually does if it’s just from exertion. It remains to be seen how dark the burn is–I was wearing make up when I went out and still had most of it on when I came back in. The heat stroke–cured with a big glass of water and ten minutes in front of the air conditioner, nekkid. Don’t picture that or you’ll be poking out your mind’s eye.

The state of my garden is atrocious. I’ve never let it get this bad in the whole time I’ve been gardening. I can’t seem to find the energy to get out there and yank those weeds out, prune those butterfly bushes, rein in the Rose of Sharon so we can navigate the paths. Likewise the Virginia creeper has gone totally wild and has snaked through most of the plum. Not sure how to handle that, since the plum is about fifteen feet high…

I started in the very back until both the heat and the guilt from letting most of my herbs die became too much to bear. Chives that I’ve had for fifteen years–dead. And yes, I use them a lot. The sage, even though it’s potted to keep it under control, has taken over much of the herb patch. My thyme is mostly dead (yes, I use it too), and the oregano–not sure how it’s faring because it was mostly covered with bees and the sage. The bees are a good sign; the sage appears to be attempting to choke the life out of it, however. There’s no sign of my garlic, which is mostly wild by now anyway because I forget to harvest it. The basil, even if it seeded itself, never had a chance due to the desert climate of the back yard this year. The catnip (yes, I grow my own) is fighting a valiant battle for life that would be aided by my cat Sylvester NOT LAYING ON TOP OF THE PLANTS!

I didn’t last long in the very back; it’s way too hot and dry. I need to water really well to be able to get the weeds out easily. I worked until my head pounded and my legs grew quivery and weak and then gave it up as a bad job. Worst fifteen minutes of my life. I moved to the side garden, where the Virginia creeper-infested plum shades a good portion of the garden, and weeded my way back to the blackberry & raspberry shrubs. I found a pleasant surprise: my blueberries aren’t dead like my husband had said several weeks ago. Well, in his defense, he said “I think we lost the blueberries.” He could have meant “I think we lost the blueberries in the weeds,” not “I think the blueberries are dead.” They are indeed alive and kicking but not producing. That’s what I get for abusing them.

My husband is the official waterer. He manages the liquid intake of all the vegetation around our humble abode. The same lethargy from which I suffer seems to have struck him as well. We didn’t get water to the back yard until probably the first week in July or last week in June. In our defense, it had been raining quite a bit. We had no spring; the weather went straight from winter to summer. We have no defense for the lackadaisical watering since the weather turned hot. We’ve finished other projects: laying sod in the yard alongside the drive way by the apple trees, and a new custom-made stepping stone walk from the street to the front porch (on which my husband misspelled my name. I am now “Shron”); a new barbeque area.

The front is looking good. But no one go in the back. It’s just that I don’t know if we’ll ever find you again.