Gardening is all about vigilance and maintaining a buoyant sense of (strictly maintained) lighthearted wonder. Super easy with the first tiny green tomatoes, the first squash blossoms, the twentieth head of lettuce, leaf of kale.
Not so easy rooting out squash vine borers (none here, knock wood), pulling hornworms, yanking slugs, earwigs, or coming across the heartbreaking evidence of fungus, blossom rot, or watering at dawn to the whine of mosquitoes.
But there has to be that maintenance of equilibrium--this is life, after all. It can go spectacularly well, spectacularly wrong, or it can spectacularly flatline. Despite all of that, our tasks are the same, the garden's needs are the same; the schedule must be kept, the routine upheld, rain, sun, heat, wind, bugs, larvae, all of it.
It can all be overcome, but dear Demeter, Artemis, and all the goddesses, does it take time. That's the thing that drags us down--not the disappointment, not the struggle, not the occasional unfortunate discovery, but the waiting.
The wearing exhaustion of waiting is what does us in every time.