What a Friend We Have in Sweet Peas

If heaven was a month, it would be August. With its ripe and ripening fruits and seeds, cornflower blue skies, and easy breezy nights, August is best seen from the point of view of floating on one's back in a neighbourhood swimming pool. I feel relaxed in August, and a little bit excited about plans for the fall. The seeds of new ideas are ripening and soon they'll be ready for picking.

I have spent the morning puttering in my garden. For the energy I needed I found myself heading to Liberty Bakery where they were putting out fresh chocolate croissants and butter rolls. The butter rolls are made with layers of dough so you can separate them out, spread them with honey and savour them one section at a time. That's just what I did. I poured myself some good green tea and that did the trick.

I strung up twine on the fence for the edible peas and sweet peas. Next year I must get these structural elements right. The peas I planted in the back garden needed finer, shorter sticks and the peas in the containers needed much taller, stronger stakes. I started to train the hops up some string and I'm delighted to see they have crept around the side of the house and discovered the cable t.v. and telephone lines that they can cling to and eavesdrop on our conversations.

I pulled out the nasturtiums that were crippled by aphids and moved a tomato plant to cover the empty spot. The tomatoes are small, but some of them are already turning yellow--my first tomatoes from seed! Working in the front of the house I trained the peas over the hydrangeas as the Chinese Alliance Church sang "What a Friend We Have in Jesus," in Mandarin. The hydrangeas are in full bloom, with their wigged-out blossoms. They are beautiful monsters but a bit loud and raucous first thing in the morning.

The radishes are getting woody so I am letting them go to seed along with the arugula. The California poppies are alive with bees and the hornets are feasting on aphids in the cornflowers and beans. I don't think my beans are going to make it this year. Quelle drag. Next year, next year, I will try again next year. And next summer I am going to plant many more sweet peas because I love them so.