(HOST) Commentator Edith Hunter enjoys her family – and her garden – and in recent years, the two have begun to merge.
(HUNTER) I have never seen the world so green. The foliage seems fuller than I have seen it in years. The trees in the Civil War Memorial Grove in the Center look wonderful. It helps that we have had no tent caterpillars and that we have had more than enough rain.
Not only are the trees looking great, but the vegetable garden is magnificent. Youngest son, Charles, a superior weeder, gave up his participation in a community garden in Bellows Falls to help me with my garden, which in its own way is a community garden.
Oldest son Graham does the rototilling, daughter-in-law Susan is in charge of the onions, and grandson Sammy planted, weeds, and will harvest the pumpkin/gourd/ornamental corn section. Daughter Elizabeth put in all the winter squash and melons in June, staked the tomoatoes, and mulched extensively. When grandson Matthew comes home from England for a short visit in late August, he may be able to begin digging potatoes. Normally he is here in late June and does battle with the potato bugs. This year, I had NO potato bugs. My explanation, based on no scientific evidence, is that the spell of extremely cold weather in March, killed the hibernating potato bugs.
My role in the garden is supervising, minor weeding, and tomato plant tie up. I am also the chief harvester, so far, of radishes, lettuce, chard, cilantro (a newcomer to my garden, influence of Charles), mesclun, peas, zucchinis, and green, wax and purple string beans. I am also in charge of redirecting the wandering tendrils of the pole beans. The harvest is shared with Charles, Susan and Graham, Will and April and Sammy, Dismas House where Will and Sammy cook occasionally, and my freezer.
On these glorious days, some of which have been more like early September than July, I cannot but think of gardeners all over the world. Some are gardening under the same lovely conditions that I am. Others in an environment of death and destruction. The hymn we sang in church on Sunday brought this home to me once again.
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on clover leaf and vine;
But other lands have sunlight, too, and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
O hear my song, O God of all the nations,
A song of peace, for their land and for mine.
Writer and historian Edith Hunter lives in Weathersfield Center.