Yesterday I managed caprese. Sometimes you’re the windshield. After a midnight meltdown last night, I’ve broken down and allowed Alex to install a dreaded AC unit. Still, Muzgaash is closed for business until the heat breaks. Bring on the thunderclaps.
The heat is good news for my garden—I’m told (by real gardeners who actually know something) that tomatoes thrive in the heat. And we have real tomatoes growing! Well, one real tomato and three little guys. I need to finish gathering my canning supplies to ensure swift preservation of our crop when the time comes. Gardeners always have too many tomatoes, right?
After one harvest, the peas have succumbed to what Alex is calling “the wilt.” Careful autopsy has determined over-heating as the cause of death. I think I may have the wilt. After that last sentence, I ate another chip, to keep up my strength.
I think the weed growing where the cucumbers died is actually a cucumber plant. While no cucumbers have formed, it appears our thumbs may be greener than we thought.
Every plot in the garden is overflowing with bounty. It smells like when we used to pick veggies for dinner in my Aunt Ruth’s garden, and I’ve found myself craving fresh mint muddled in lemonade. Maybe I’ll send Alex out for a few “of the yellow ones.” He owes me. I made dinner.