I don't have a lot of time, and neither does my garden.
I have to go to a meeting at work tonight, I have to leave in less than an hour, so I'll make this quick.
I've been working in the garden lately, but not like I was a few months ago. In May, I was planting and digging my garden like I was building scenery for a play. Back then it seemed the one constant backyard sound was the dulcet hum of a neighbor's lawnmower.
I was cutting branches and filling trash cans the other day, and I was listening to Radiolab on my iPhone. The show was all about loops. Music loops; a story about a woman with a temporary brain disorder that compelled her to remember and repeat only what happened about 20 minutes prior; mathematical loops; the loop that's created when a whale dies.
The show's topic seemed to resonate with what I was doing, with what I've done every fall and every spring in this yard for almost 20 years.
So there's been the blanching, the shredding, the freezing, the baking, the giving away.
The handful of seeds I planted in May has created a remarkable harvest, really.
I saved the seeds from the zucchini and the white acorn squash last year, and some seeds must have co-mingled without my knowing. I had a plant that generated strange zuke-acorn squash hybrids.
And now it's time to go to my staff meeting, with a few minutes to spare.
It seems like the perfect opportunity to bring an armful of zucchini and a bag filled with tomatoes.
It's a tasty fall loop. Satisfying to plant, to nurture, to watch grow, to harvest, to give away.