I am no one's idea of a constant gardener. Because I see my in-ground plot only every other weekend, I've endeavored, through trial and (mostly) error, to create a garden that runs primarily on autopilot: a timed sprinkler, black mulch paper to discourage weeds, occasional infusions of plant food and slug bait and insecticidal soap. Needless to say, no one would be overly impressed with the results. But this year has been improbably successful. I harvested more bush beans than I knew what to do with. My snow peas produced pretty well. I had a surprisingly large crop of edamame, enough to keep three or four sake drinkers happy for at least a half hour. The spinach and lettuce did not disappoint me. Although my carrots and radishes and beets were small, they were plentiful. And at long last...tomatoes. After year after year of miserable yields, culminating last summer in the tragedy of The Great Blight, I have approximately a zillion cherry tomatoes and a respectable number of Polfasts. So before the whole thing freezes solid, I offer up my thanks to the dirt gods, who finally saw fit to smile upon me.
How'd you do?