This is what we’ve worked for, gardeners.
I bow to my intrinsic, agrarian rhythms. In March they compelled me to plant when I would have preferred to ski the last few runs. In June I weeded when I would have liked to have hopped on my single-speed cruiser, instead.
But this is the bounty of August — the gardening reward, and not only the reward, but a brief, indulgent respite.
The weeds have slowed, plants are sturdy, monsoonal rains are helping water, and my agrarian rhythms are telling me to leisurely grill the sweet corn and slather Brandywine tomatoes with mayo on a BLT.
This is the in-between, calm and grateful gardening season — time to examine flowers. Time to lie in the hammock. I don’t even care if squash bugs eat the zucchini; we’ve had our fill.
It will pass. In a few weeks I’ll feel antsy again and will start canning, freezing and dehydrating everything that’s left, squirreling away for the winter. But for now … pass the mayo.