After the most productive weekend I've had in recent memory--combined Sweet Husband and I cleaned every nook and cranny of the house including behind the fridge, replaced a light fixture, did all the laundry, went to the store, replaced our thermostat, made four jars of watermelon pickles, made a weeks worth of dinner for the dogs, and even found time to make dinner for ourselves--I went down to the Burrow garden this evening, intent on getting things all ship shape to plant some stuff for the fall.
Shovel in hand, I hoped out of the car full of energy and ready to do some heavy digging; but as I surveyed the scene all of a sudden a wave of exhaustion hit me.
Don't get me wrong, things are going well. I picked a dinner's worth of beans, a cucumber, a tomato, two handfuls of baby yellow bell peppers, and one small leek. On top of that, my hot peppers (pictured above) are starting to ripen and I think I have a pumpkin just about ready to come home.
But despite the continuing productivity, there's a definite sense that most of my plants are on their last gasp. The tomato plants are now more brown than green, the beans have a distinctly chewed-on appearance, and let's not get started on the weeds....
After all we had already done this weekend, I just couldn't face it; I halfheartedly stuck my shovel in the ground, decided it was too wet to work, and came home for a lay-on-the-couch, early-to-bed evening. The digging will wait until next weekend, I think.