Gleaning

Gleaning

The last bees of summer gather what’s left of the nectar and pollen on lettuce flowers. I should be so diligent. There’s parsley, sage, thymes and chives still here to be harvested. A whole stand of celery I could not manage to eat. Seven different kinds of mint and two beds of lettuce also wait for some kind of employment. The deer come nightly for what remains of the kale and swiss chard, their favorites. Like me, their fate will eventually be determined by their guilty pleasures. Gary’s rifle is more effective than a scarecrow at keeping these marauders out of the garden and into the freezer.

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