As it turns out, the one tomato plant I bought on a whim because it cost a dollar (even though it was wilted, mostly dead or dying and seemed to be more brown than green) was the plant of the garden this year, producing, shall we say, a rather bumper crop of produce:
As for the rest, a confession: despite earlier enthusiasm, I eventually left the garden to fallow…though before it can do that I suppose it needs “to rot.”
It is. Rotting, I mean.
Nothing untoward or gross – just a slow decay indicative, really, of my failure to provide care or manage it.
To care, I mean.
The other tomato plants died in the ungodly heat and for lack of rain, and water (two very different things, as it turns out). Likewise, the jalapeños and other assorted peppers (bell, ghost, habanero) perished. The squash and the mystery plants, though a mysteries no more, were ravaged by vermin (raccoons, skunks, squirrels and rabbits, we had them all this year).
It was more than enough to demoralize, to quit. To not to care, not anymore.
I can only blame myself. And the gods.
I realize. I was too ambitious. Next year will be another year, at least, to try.
But that, I also suppose, goes without saying.