I picked summer squash today. Nature breathed a great big sigh of relief. Or maybe that was me. I mean, can you blame me? Two Mondays ago we had an extremely late frost. Last Monday we had a flood. So I was understandably tense as I braced for today’s weather report and…sunny and dry! I could feel my body involuntarily relax as I reached for the tender little yellow and green beauty. At last, a shift from the frantic scrambling of incorrigibly unpredictable spring into the (relatively speaking) slowed down signature of summer that the arrival of summer squash signals. Don’t get me wrong, for a farmer in summertime, the living ain’t exactly easy, but (I feel the need to again qualify here), given the right conditions (not flooding), it can be a lot less stressful.
The arrival of summer squash also signals the end of the bagged baby greens (sorry arugula lovers) and this year, the end of strawberry wine. The rye grass between the strawberry beds must be drunk with it all. The scent of fermenting rotten strawberries permeates the air and I have to admit that I’ll be glad when I get to mow down the memory of such a strawberry year and plant cover crops there instead. But while floods are not the strawberry’s lover, the chard and kale are smitten. To each his own, I suppose. And we all march on toward the next best thing to come out of the fields.
Our little meandering Tumbling Shoals Creek a rippin' and a roarin' after the flood!