Dug the potatoes today and then sorted through them and all the new squash (there is soooo much) and played mandala making with my takings.
So strange to make peace with what a garden gives in some ways. We had a decent purple, fingerling potato harvest but the handful of miniature sweet potatoes that you see above are really all we got. And yet we are overrun and awash with unexpected riches of those tiny chalk white pumpkins which came mysteriously out of the compost pile, utterly unbidden. Gardens reflect the unpredictable whims of nature AND the energy or laziness of the gardener. The trick is the message is untranslatable for anyone but the gardener themselves. Only I can know that the sweet potatoes were given everything their little hearts desires except blazing hot weather for weeks on end or that all those white pumpkins are a tumbling, pleated, pile of gifts that I never dreamed of asking for. I love the way a harvest keeps you guessing and thinking. Who knows what next year will hold?
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