
a view of the mountains from inside the garden
Pullin' weeds and pickin' stones We are made of dreams and bones Need a place to grow my own 'Cause the time is close at hand ~ David Mallet

We rototilled again and then raked out stones and weeds and set four foot wide beds. That was evening and morning of the first day.
done by noon.
Like the morning glories. For years I have dreamed of a garden gate blooming in morning glories. My gate is right on the verge of being festooned with them (festoon is a word I save for very special descriptions), but I will not get to see it in bloom this year. And there is the one mum I have just on the verge of bloom … not this year.
bright blue of spring I emerge with as many tools as I can carry very early in the morning. Reversing that process is a little like the feeling you get when you take down the Christmas tree and put the ornaments away.
There will be more to say in November, but I probably won’t be typing it from my rocking chair perch on the porch. The swallows are swooping against a pure blue sky. The Russian olives are beginning to show their bright red fruit. The recent welcome rain has helped to shift my landscape from brown back to green. When I return it will be time to put the garden to bed.