Well, I got it all done: weeding, mulching, mowing, trimming, watering, pruning, ugly-junk stowing. The job took hours, and I was filthy at the end of it, plus I yanked a muscle in my left shoulder, but the gardens are now pristine (relatively). Of course hardly anyone will show up this evening because of rain, but I'm fine with that. Before the drizzle starts, I'll make one last pass through the main vegetable and flower beds to pick off yellow leaves and expired blooms, and then I'll quit fretting.
Such an ordeal! Think twice, friends, before you agree to a host a garden tour.
At least I got a good night's sleep, and today I'll be able to catch up on my desk jobs. Speaking of which: I was editing a bibliography yesterday afternoon and came across a citation for Homesickness: An American History. Of course I was smitten by the title and instantly ordered the book through interlibrary loan. Maybe it will be boring and academic, but I have hopes.
The air is so thick this morning. Just walking from one room to another feels like snorkeling; I expect to bump into a coral reef at any moment. But the tomatoes love this weather. Already I am overloaded with cherries and Romas, and harvest season has barely begun. Do not think I am complaining. For dinner last night we ate local hake, alongside a salad of roasted baby potatoes, green beans, broccoli, and shishitos, and a separate side of thick-sliced ripe yellow tomatoes. Every single vegetable was from my teeny-tiny plot.