Surely there must have been an entire 24 hour span recently when it didn't rain [?]
Looking back on the week and a half since we returned from the wedding, I can't pinpoint a whole day or night without heavy bursts of intermittent deluge.
A few mid-morning hours of blue sky and puffy white clouds promising a clear day, give way to darkness and the sudden pounding of rain on the roof.
The rugosas and the rose of Sharon at the side edge of the porch have bowed under the force of rain.
The woods beyond the upper drive are wrapped in mist and moisture.
Weeds have grown apace and the garden is too soggy for proper weeding or tilling.
Jim used the weed whacker to trim back weeds and let air circulate around plants.
The few perennials I have planted were being splattered with wet soil with each shower, while the bags of mulch purchased days ago lay in a lumpish pile on the porch of the workshop.
I decided during a break of steamy sunshine to work from the lower edge of the perennial strip, standing on the clipped area below the terraced bed to fling handfuls of shredded bark mulch around the plants. I tucked in a few seedlings--signet marigolds and coneflowers hoping that the shade and moisture of the current weather will give them a chance to settle in.
This end of the enclosed area is still rough with weeds. I've hacked away with a sturdy 3-prong 'digger' attempting to loosen the soil so that I can tweek out the persistent turnip seedlings that are a legacy of the 'cover crop' that apparently came in with the topsoil.
I've had several sessions of transplanting--mostly lavender and foxgloves. I planted a white variety and the deep rose perennial variety from my saved seeds.
It would seem that every miniscule seed germinated.
Foxglove seem to be slow growers, but at my former location the seedlings established well from an early autumn move to the garden.
My presence on the porch, fussing about with buckets of soil mix, trays and pots usually inspires at least one cat to offer assistance.
Bobby Mac has positioned himself where he can keep me company and also observe the hummingbird feeder.
Indoors, I have at least made a beginning on curtains for the living room which has four windows.
I finished three panels, but when I spread the roll of fabric to measure and cut for more, I attracted a helpful crew.
I didn't settle well to this project. By the time I had collected my sewing tools, scrubbed garden soil from under my fingernails, it was time to prepare supper.
I removed the cats, re-rolled the fabric and retreated to my rocking chair with a book while another dose of rain slatted against the windows.
On Sunday afternoon, moving gingerly along the rows, heels sinking into soggy soil, I picked the first of the green beans.
Here they are in a bath of cold water--many had been splashed with mud.
One can do nothing but endure unfavorable weather.
Sheets and towels optimistically pegged on the line, must be brought inside to the tumble dryer; windows opened to let in a fresh breeze must be hastily slammed shut as thunder rumbles and a fresh onslaught of rain comes down.
The forecast calls for rain to continue in spurts through the weekend!
The little brook which borders the lane, dry and quiet since late spring, now gurgles with an infilling of water; the landscape is green--eerily green through mid-day darkness--and I view the tangle of lank growth--weeds, vines, wildflowers--with the sense that we must rush out during moments of sunshine to hack away lest we be smothered in unwanted foliage.
Jim charges about with the bush hog behind the tractor or on the riding mower attempting to keep the verges of the lane clipped and the small pasture from being over run.
The wire fences have become trellises supporting honeysuckle and a rampaging vine for which I have no name.