Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

And dream of another spring.

September 1, 2017


I have to think of this current political, bigoted, ego-inflated madness as just another growing season--albeit, one especially fraught with mites, cutworms, squash borers, cucumber beetles, cabbage moths, mosquitoes, ticks, and blackflies. Oh, hell. Let's throw in the brown-tailed moths, too, while we're at it. 


Those things suck. They're a royal pain in the seat of my favorite ten-year-old gardening jeans, and they almost drive you mad with their whining, biting, and seemingly bulletproof immunity against anything from weather to neem oil to falling temperatures to pure farmer-fury. Yes. They suck. And the only thing for it is to pull on the dorky mosquito netting (again) and go about the business of living, swatting, and counting small victories. 


But here's the thing, Petals: their season is a hell of a lot shorter than ours. We are savvier, healthier, and bigger, goddammit, than those bloodsuckers and we have outlasted worse summers than this. The frost is coming and with it, those who weren't built for these climates will fall. Trust me.


Just keep digging. Harvest what you can and leave nothing for the pests but the cold. 









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This Quiet Earth