Today I gathered in most of my spearmint. There was quite a bit but it went to flower and beyond so not the amount of good leaf I would have liked. The bees had it to themselves and just as well, the only yard for blocks with flowers is drenched with more lawn chemicals than I like to think about. By my measure it’s practically a Superfund site but it’s the American way. The catnip struggled, the sunflowers were stunted and the humidity ate into the woodruff. I let the wild thistles grown tall and they did well. The bees really love them and the purple flowers are beautiful to me. The rue did well but the humidity took the lavender. I had few tomatoes because Mosby got sick about the time they should have been put in. The same was true for the peppers.
Now it seems fall is coming early. The humidity is still high but the temperatures are lower. Mid to late afternoon gets uncomfortable and the mornings just drip. It’s unusual and uncomfortable but better than the high nineties temperatures.The cats lay on their backs with their feet in the air until sundown when we eat. There is no harvest, no canning or freezing and little drying. The house is old and has been neglected and will be expensive to heat if the hard winter I feel is coming appears. If my hip aches this year there will be no Mosby to lay on it gently and warm it.
So it is all anticlinax. I am tired. I am restless. I miss the ocean and the desert and real mountains, not these worn down hillocks I see on the horizon. At night I dream of driving Highway One in Big Sur, watching the sunrise at Mono Lake, rappelling in Yosemite and walking in the fog among the redwoods. They are dreams that take me to far away and long ago. Or perhaps they are dreams that take me to yet to come, far away only from this feeling of anticlimax.