We've had clear blue skies, warm sunshine and bird song this weekend. The garden is bursting; the peach, nectarine, plum, pear and grapes are setting fruit. Kersey likes picking peaches off the lower limbs -- Look mom! Balls growing on trees! My rose hedge is blinding, bursting with pink blooms. My memorial garden is a riot of Shasta daisies, orange-red poppies, white carnations and blue straw flowers.
The herb bed is overflowing with native poppies.
Yesterday afternoon Brett spent time on his mower while I planted heirloom tomatoes in the raised vegetable bed.
I wasn't going to plant a vegetable garden this year, due to the drought, but a cheerful young student was selling heirloom seedlings at the farmers market and I couldn't resist. We walked past her table, slowly, and then continued on -- with me dragging my feet, trying to tell myself that I didn't need those seedlings. Brett looked at me, "Go back and get the tomato plants." So I did. Four plants, all different varieties, with names like Bumblebee Pink, Indigo Apple and Blue Berry.
I've been spending time in the garden every morning and evening; just walking around, pulling stray weeds, thinning the fruit, watching it grow and bloom. The garden is my peaceful place to start and end the day; it takes the stress of my work day and sends it away, out of the garden, and out of my mind.