Cornucopia

Warren's garden is going great guns now, bearing gifts for late summer. The cucumbers that we ate daily through most of July and August are finally trailing off – but the cherry tomatoes are in full riot, competing in their cages with volunteer morning glories. The watermelons are ripening; new cantaloupes appear daily in the fridge. Warren has canned more than forty pints of green beans, all without salt. The figs are just about ripe – time to fight the mockingbirds for them, and the pomegranates are promising to bear throughout the fall.

As we come to the end of summer, the garden no longer looks as beautiful as it did in spring. Aggressive, luxuriant growth has slowed – most plants are beginning to look tattered, wearing out under the load of production. But that production brings the fruits and vegetables that will keep us fed when summer's done and the wind turns cold.

It's only a city lot, but Warren has turned it into an arboretum. He has crammed specimen plants – witch hazel, magnolias, holly, camellias, you name it, he's planted it – front to back, side to side. And the big garden is the centerpiece. The yard is truly as full as it can be – this year, we've had to start cutting down some of the trees he planted when we moved here, to make room for all the plants clamoring for light beneath them. After so many years, the yard, like the garden, is slightly blowsy, showing some wear, needing renewal.

Warren has made a garden of our life. We've entered the harvest season.