Goodbye miserable summer

Good bye long, hot, drought-filled, wildfiremangled, coronavirus summer.

There are endless Tshirts about varied survivals.

“I survived the Medusa roller coaster,” “Cancer survivor,” “I kicked COVID.”

If this summer had a Tshirt it could read: “I survived this, that and the other thing.”

Many plants, however, did not survive.

I’ll admit, I didn’t try very hard.

There were times I was too busy to water, times I didn’t care and many times I was wasting time with complaints. Mother Nature was on a mean streak and I chose not to fight.

As is my custom, I began the growing season habitually. Humans are merely animals. In spring a gardener gets the itch. In April I felt frisky and young at heart, the way squirrels feel when their fur begins to drift away like wisps of a dandelion. I washed and waxed my cars and wore spring dresses. I planted seeds.

But before my skin turned even half a shade darker, it was too hot to leave your dog in the car without all of the windows rolled down.

The seeds I had planted grew into tender young plants, which soon looked like they had been trapped in a toaster oven.

This year was an offyear, but it made me happy to look at things that were growing in other people’s yards.

One of my favorite gardens belongs to Penny, who lives next door.

When I check my mail I often see her working on an amazing garden project.

In spring 2020 she had a pile of new lumber, purchased in those days when everyone had too much time on their hands. COVID was new and the trend was to stay home with our mounds of hoarded toilet paper.

Offices were sending workers home, but the parking lots of the hardware stores were packed and every pickup truck on the highway was loaded with fencing supplies.

Back then lumber was still affordable and you could remodel your kitchen without taking out a second mortgage.

One day, when I was unemployed and desperate to hear a voice that did not come from my television set, I chatted with Penny about her newest garden project.

She was building raised beds.

For several weeks she worked to singe each piece of wood with a flamethrower. Next, she painted the boards with a special varnish. The house might fall down, but those raised beds would last 100 years, she said without any hint of braggery.

Metal gopher mesh was rolled onto the rough earth and her boyfriend hauled in mounds of lush soil.

As planned, her garden grew.

This year, again, Penny was growing without any loss of momentum. Sunflowers soared and her peppers turned from brown to red in the relentless sun. When summer settled in for the long haul, she built shade structures.

Things bloomed and fruit grew — until they didn’t.

One miserably hot day I checked my junk mail and noted Penny’s garden was dying.

Was she out of town? I felt a mild sense of

guilt that we were not close enough friends that she could ask me to water while she was gone. More hot sun continued and her peppers shriveled like raisins.

I suspected the worst. She must have COVID. I could have knocked on the door and offered soup

or to run errands. The idea of COVID scared me into indifference. As the summer wore on and on, her plants died. I hoped Penny was OK.

A few weeks ago, I chatted with Penny over the fence. She was languishing under a shade structure, and her raised beds were

as dry as a wasteland.

Her dead plants were by choice, she said. She had chosen to respect the drought and postpone gardening until next year. I guess I made that same choice, in my own way.

I know she’ll have a spade in her hand next spring, as will I. Gardening is a habit.

Garden enthusiast Heather Hacking loves when you share what’s growing on. Reach out at sowtheregardencolumn@ gmail.com, and snail mail, P.O. Box 5166, Chico CA 95927.