My Yard is Tired of Summer

My yard is tired of summer. The heat wave in July and August exhausted all its resources and now the yard is ready for fall. In late August, the sun sets a little earlier and comes up a little later, stealing more of the sunlight the plants crave. My redneck-engineered sprinkler system has experienced some system failures (the hoses cracked), so is not delivering water efficiently or effectively. I was gone during the worst of the heat wave when the plants needed more water than I had prescribed. The squashes just gave up and died. Butterfly bush quit putting out flowers. Rhododendron all but died. One of the bales in the straw bale experimental garden leaned over on its side, though the Early Girl tomatoes are still producing with the plant growing sideways.

However, when I mow the yard now, it doesn’t rush to grow back. The weeds don’t even try to hide from the mower blade as it brushes over them. The mower, too, is careless, anxious to be serviced and put away for the winter. The swath it makes is only half-heartedly cut (to be fair, that could be due to a dull blade and not the mower’s attitude). I should make another pass over the raggedly cut path, but I am tired of mowing. I look at trees that need branches trimmed and think, “I’ll trim them in winter, when my time isn’t consumed by mowing.”

Grasshoppers jump out of my way, sort of, knowing their time is short and ready to move on. Tomatoes that ripen are smaller now than the giants I got in early July. Pepper plants are covered with blossoms, but show no interest in producing jalapenos, bells and poblanos. I only harvested a handful of Romas before they surrendered. The grape tomatoes produce fewer every day, and I eat them from the vine as I check them. The ceaseless Kansas wind, even, is too tired to blow. Leaves and grass blades hang limp and still.

The roses put out fewer, smaller buds now, though the zinnias still bloom with enthusiasm. The surprise lilies have come and gone quickly. Tiger lilies and irises have withered and turned brown, what leaves aren’t serrated by grasshopper teeth.  Hollyhocks bloomed quickly and then produced seed, too tired to bloom all summer as in the past.  Even the sand burrs are turning yellow; they had too much rain early on to spread during the hot and dry. Then when it turned hot, it was too hot.

Like most people, I guess I am eager to move from this season to the next. We are always waiting for Friday to arrive, the holidays to get here, for the next birthday, for Christmas, for retirement. In this headlong rush to the next good thing, we miss some wonderful, here-and-now gifts: the enthusiastic “ki-eye” of a Mississippi kite as my mower drones, the wild kitten who flattens itself as its momma has instructed directly in my path so I won’t see it, the meteor showers, the beautiful full moon almost a harvest moon already.

Maybe it was the devastating heat that dragged on so long. Maybe it was the plethora of bad news from every device we use, of wars and disasters and violence fueled by hatred. Maybe it was the campaign season that has dragged on far too long. Whatever the reason, not only is my yard tired of summer, I am, too.  I anticipate. . .

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