Okay, but not a real coma. Or actually any coma at all.
It's more like a Disney story.
Girl is obsessed with yard work. Girl has real job too. Girl gets tendinitis in wrist from over-use. Doctor tells girl not to use wrist. Girl listens to doctor a little and stops yard work. Girl stares out window every day with longing. Leaves pile up in garden, tumble weed blows by, things start to look dilapidated. Girl decides to ignore doctor. Girl plays in garden again, frolics even, and prances around with joy in heart. Wrist... eh, girl will figure that out later.
Man (or Girl) was made to work. Hard.
Classic Disney.
And So I'm back. And my garden is deader than ever. But isn't that just the way the seasons go?
The geese are flying south. Except for this jazzy one my nephew painted for me.
And nearly everything is dead. Except for this Greek Oregano...
Some hardy cilantro that doesn't realize it's practically winter...
And these beets. Which I just cannot eat. I cannot. Beets are yucky. And now I know.
And confused hydrangeas. Of course, it's 65 degrees today. Halfway through November. In zone 6.
But everything else is torn out. Tags saved for next year...
Leaves and plants heaped up out of the way...
And I put up this jazzy structure. Which is just PVC pipe pushed into the ground in my semi-raised bed. A little heavy grade plastic, a little bit of straw and I have myself a not so high high-tunnel. Which will be great for the spinach and kale and early season veggies.
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