Fresh Peaches- Get 'em while they last!

"As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust. The life of mortals is like grass, they flourish like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more."

I picked the last of the early peaches today, and there are only a couple of apricots left. We had fewer than usual this year because of the timing of the last freeze, and I probably could have gotten more if I'd been more aggressive about picking them before the birds got to them. We've tried using netting in the past to protect them from bird incursions, but it's somewhat cumbersome, not wholly effective, and I don't really mind sharing with the birds. If I get to eat all the tree-ripened fresh peaches I want, why should I mind if the birds enjoy a few as well?

Such a short season- two weeks maybe- for fresh peaches. But, so many things in life are transitory, and how often do we miss enjoying the present while worrying about, or trying to control, the future? Perhaps we should just enjoy- and share- the peaches while we can.

On change

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven".

The view is changing from where I sit in the gazebo. Corn stalks now rise higher than the spikes of larkspur, and we just enjoyed the first peaches from our early-bearing tree. Apricots will be next, within a week or so, along with Early Girl tomatoes, and I might even try to pick a blueberry or two this week. Nasturtiums, sweet peas, California poppy, and backelor's button are almost all spent now, the honeysuckle has completed its blooming cycle, and the roses are not as full of blossoms as they were a few weeks ago, but coreopsis, calendula, galliardia, zinnia, marigolds, and several sunflower-family annuals are taking their place.

The raised beds are so full of color I can't see much in the way of dirt underneath the plants, which is the way I like them. Tecoma bushes, which were killed off to the ground by this winter's hard freeze, have reached a height of two or three feet already and are covered with bright yellow blooms. Right now there's a small finch enjoying allysum seeds for breakfast, and several hummingbirds also visit on a regular basis.

There's a pleasantly cool breeze this morning after several very warm days- our backyard thermometer registered a high of 104 at one point last week. It's been difficult to keep some of the pots of annuals in full sunlight sufficiently watered by hand; we'll need to extend a drip line to them within the next few weeks if they are to survive. We were disappointed to notice yesterday that several grape clusters had withered almost overnight, and we're not sure what caused that.

This morning I started thinking about change, which we expect and welcome in the garden, but more often than not resist in our lives. In my garden, I enjoy the sights, smells, tastes, and sounds of each season knowing that they won't last forever. As the seasons change, so will our garden, and each season brings its own particular beauty and delights for the senses (well, maybe not so much midsummer here).

"Sunrise, sunset. Sunrise, sunset, swiftly fly the years. One season following another, laden with happiness and tears."