Everything was going fine until it rained. And rained. And rained.
Our weather station temporarily went on the fritz last week when a night of lightning took out the power, but we got somewhere in the neighborhood of 5 inches of rain in about four days. That much rain at this time of year is a recipe for flopped and flattened plants, rot and, well, nothing good.
By the time it was over (I wish I could say say “By the time the sun came out,” but there’s not been much of that either) everything on the edges of the garden was laying on the ground, the petunias were completely limp (is there any more pathetic flower than a wet petunia?) and the poor dahlias were doing their best to defy gravity, with limited success.
And the idea of going in there and rescuing it all seemed, well, like a lot of work. And I don’t know about you, but at this time of year, I’m tired. The every day, banal garden duties hold very little appeal by September (except for deadheading, which I continue to have an odd affinity for).
I actually looked at the flattened garden for a couple days, contemplating just ripping it out. As much as I’m one to savor every ounce of summer and the growing season, I’m also aware that a huge fall cleanup awaits.
But you know I didn’t succumb to that urge. I got in there and stood it up, although not very elegantly in some cases. And of course I’m glad I did it. And I actually enjoyed it, just a little. It turns out that sometimes those just-have-to-do-it gardening jobs are good for a little mental break. And engineering how to stand a flopped garden back up again with bamboo canes and twine doesn’t allow for the busyness of everyday life to interfere.
So the garden lives to fight another day, and so does the gardener. But the petunias, well, those seem unlikely to recover and their days truly are numbered. Hey, they had a good run.