I moved again, two and something years ago, and this will be my third garden in this little patch. I’ve changed its size and shape every year as I’ve searched for a manageable size and best, or at least better, practices. The first year I made it as big as I had fencing for, and because I had a more or less full time assistant who shared with me a gardening addiction. We harvested a lot of food, although between tending the garden and putting up its bounty it was almost more work than fun. Almost.
Then, just as the year two garden was getting underway, I was diagnosed with a recurrence of the cancer that tried to kill me once before. That garden’s success was due, almost exclusively, to Sarah’s hard work, with a sizable assist from her sweet companion Gene. They did the lion’s share and I mostly watched and kibitzed. Kibitz is a word of Yiddish origin and refers to a person who gives advice and commentary whether asked for or not. It’s akin to the back-seat-driver syndrome. That was me last year.
But then late last fall, Sarah was sidelined by her own health problems, and was also faced with the more pleasant prospect of a new domestic life with Gene, back at her own home in Arkansas. So I was faced this spring with the reality of doing a garden mostly on my own, and with strength and stamina seriously sapped by the effects of prolonged radiation treatments and coming to terms generally with the fact that although my head is still in my 40s, my body has entered it’s seventh decade and is not remotely interested in finding extra work to do. So I downsized. Details, more, probably, than you’d care to hear, to follow.
Here are a few of the hundreds of photos Sarah took of the 2013 garden.