When I was picking squash Thursday evening, I noticed a clump of squash bug eggs on the leaves. Since we were about to go to Granddaughter #2's birthday party, I made a mental note to come back and spray the plants. Yesterday morning about 9 o'clock, I got on it.
The garden was still very muddy. I picked all the squash, crushed any bug eggs that I could find, and sprayed the plants.
Thursday evening I'd also noticed that one of the tomato plants looked wilted and suspected fusarium wilt. After I finished with the squash, I picked all the tomatoes off the plant, yanked it out of the ground, and threw it away.
As I passed the purple hull pea rows, I saw that the peas needed picking again. I hadn't planned to pick peas, but knew they'd dry on the vines if I didn't get them soon, so I went to work on them. With all the rain we've had, the weeds in the pea rows are out of control. I spent twice as much time pulling weeds as picking peas. When I got to the final row, on the side where the garden meets the lawn, the grass was so high that I wouldn't step into it for fear of snakes.
The whole time I worked, I grumbled. A horse fly bit me on the arm, and ants chewed my ankles. It's ridiculous to try to maintain such a big garden. And I don't even like purple hull peas.
By the time I finished the picking, I'd decided that next year I will not plant any peas.
* * * * * * * *
Son #1 has been borrowing our lawnmower all summer. His has gone kaput. The last time he borrowed it, he did not bring it back. The Husband texted him Friday and told him to bring the lawnmower home so we could mow our yard and Nanny's. The Son said he'd send them home by his stepson, who would then mow Nanny's yard. The Husband told him to have the stepson check with him before starting on Nanny's yard, so he could show him where the hazards are.
Son #1 has had our big black tiller all summer long. And he's had my push-type weed whacker since last summer. I added to The Husband's text: bring all our garden stuff home. The last I'd heard about the weed whacker was that the handle had broken, and a replacement handle could not be found. I told him to bring it home, anyway.
About noon, I'd just gotten back from the garden, showered, and was cooling off under a fan on the back porch when I heard a vehicle go down Nanny's driveway. Soon, I heard the lawnmower running. Stepson had not remembered to check with us before starting to mow, or Son had forgotten to tell him.
After I'd cooled off, I drove my car to Nanny's to get the weed whacker, intending to bring it home so I could get the model number and maybe order a new handle. Stepson had finished the mowing and skedaddled. There were ribbons of tall grass he'd missed all over the yard.
I tried to load the weed whacker into the trunk of my car, but it wouldn't fit. It appeared that the handle had been fixed or replaced. Good job, Son! I left the weed whacker where it was and got the lawnmower so I could mow our yard. I asked The Husband to go get the weed whacker in his truck, but he hasn't done it yet.
Later today, I'm going to see if it will crank. If it does, the over-grown phlox bed at the end of our house will be history.
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