I’m convinced that the heartbeat of summer emanates from the clothesline. Briskly shaking out wrinkles, careful pinning, and the cool of wet clothing queued, resting on my shoulder become a working meditation.
Onions! A whole row of them! I think I’ve finally hit upon the secret to growing them. Or rather, I’ve finally abandoned the old method which failed me year after year after year: plant the string-thin seedlings or bulb sets on a blistering hot day, set up irrigation drip hose to water, run like hell and don’t look back till July, when all are long dead and/or smothered in weeds. It appears they are instead taking well to regular water, heavy mulch, and an aggressive weeding regimen. I also read somewhere that they like wood ash. Oh, we got wood ash, alright. So I did a little side dressing of ash, topped with the early season’s grass clippings, which now appear to be the season’s only grass clippings, given the state of our parched (dead?) lawn.
And there is Rubes.