The Garden in August

The battle is on to keep the plants alive until September and cooler weather. We are heading toward a new record for the number of 100 degrees or more days. Great! On top of that a drought has lowered our water supply to a very low level although not as low as when I was a child. With the water level dropping, new more stringent watering rules are going into effect.

As of August 24, 2009, we can only water once a week and not during the heat of the day. The police will be handing out tickets, no warnings. The tickets will be at least $400.00. I can't help but think that a cash-strapped city has discovered a new revenue source. Other cities and towns are only now going to mandatory conservation and twice a week watering.

Unless the weather changes and rain comes, I don't think I will have a fall garden. The problem is that I need to be planting now for the fall and it is too hot and too dry.

I lost my last artichoke and my lavender. The tomatoes are still alive but producing smaller fruit. The cherry tomatoes are now pea-sized. The yellow pear tomato is not producing at all. It looks to be on its last legs suffering from heat and disease. Even the native black nightshade is having problems. This plant has grown at the edge of the garden since spring. The white wing doves love its fruit so I have let it grow. Something is eating the leaves. The plant was already weakened by the heat, so it has a very straggly appearance.

My okra continues to flourish with pods harvested every day. The first eggplant has been picked and eaten. With the dearth of insects including bees, I am now pollinating the eggplant by hand using a paint brush.

The weather forecast is for another week of heat and dryness. We may break the all time record for days in three digits. Oh well, I am going swimming with my cousin.

Photo by faul

Gardening at over 100 -- Degrees, that is

I planted a garden this year with little regard to practicality. I planted vegetables that I wanted to eat including artichokes and eggplant. Of course, I have tomatoes, onions, bell peppers and okra. I did not do a lot of homework. I had gardens in the past and usually had fairly good success. I should have been more deliberate and studious.

I planted artichoke seeds late last year. Some plants came up and did fine through the winter. I did not have a freeze this year. Growing up, it always froze in the winter, usually several times, but in the last ten years freezes have become rare.

Anyway, the artichokes grew rapidly, and I soon discovered I had planted them too close together. I transplanted as many as I dared, trying to space them far apart. Most of the transplants made it, even the one I put in the midst of the parsnips.

All was well until the temperatures climbed above 100 degrees Fahrenheit and stayed there day after day. Despite my watering, my artichokes began to dry up. Soon, the plants were infested with black aphids. I don't use pesticides. A Ph.D. in chemistry makes me too knowlegable about the dangers of poisons whether man-made or natural. I washed the aphids off: they returned. I tried soap and water and washed some more. The soap and water was successful. The aphid numbers were greatly reduced, but the artichokes continued to decline.

I went online to research artichokes. Okay, a little late, but at least, I was trying. Artichokes don't like high temperatures. In high heat conditions, they go dormant. We had record breaking high temperatures (as high as 106) day after day. My artichokes were definitely unhappy - their leaves curled and the whole plant lost color.

So, I must wait. Either my artichokes have gone dormant (I hope) or they have died. All I can do is wait for cooler temperatures to find out. Whatever the outcome, next year I plant in partial shade.

Photo by flickring

Stuck in the Baptistry

When I was eleven, I committed my life to Jesus. (I would do so again as an adult, but that is another story.) My Presbyterian grandmother was not happy that her only grandchild was about to become a Southern Baptist. My mother enlisted the aid of the pastor to convince her that I should be baptized.

The pastor and my grandmother had a long, serious discussion about the two faiths, but my grandmother was not convinced. The pastor looked at me, then turned to my grandmother and said, "A little more water won't hurt her." My grandmother laughed and agreed.

Now, there were some difficulties about my baptism. I had a bone disease, Legg-Perthes, and was either in a wheelchair or on crutches because I could not use my left leg. It was decided that I would be the first one baptized that particular Sunday, so that I could enter the baptistry with the curtains drawn. That worked just fine except that my crutches slipped a little on the metal baptistry. The pastor steadied me, and I handed my crutches to a helper.

The baptism went forward without a problem. I was an avid swimmer and had no fear of water. Getting dunked was no big deal. I cannot say that I felt any different. I was focused on the problem of getting out of the baptistry.

The helper handed me my crutches, and I planted the firmly as I made my way to the steps out of the baptistry. They slid a little each time but held. When I reached the first step, I really pushed the crutches down. The crutches did not move as I pushed myself onto the first step. I pulled on the crutches to bring them to the step. The crutches did not move. I was stuck. The suction cups were sealed to the metal floor. I jerked and the crutches came free with a sound I have never heard duplicated -- a metal flexing and releasing, groaning plop. No one in the congregation made a sound. I had to repeat the process for one more step. The noise was just as horrendous. At the top of the steps, the helper reached down and dried my crutches tips. I had no more problems with sticking.

Years later as I confronted my doubts about Christianity, I would contemplate that baptism and its meaning. I would never forget the grace of that congregation that did not laugh at my predicament. Theirs was a gift I still appreciate.