The Garden Collapse

I mentioned the garden, or rather the garden’s collapse. It’s too bad. We had great plans for a marvelous harvest this year, as this photo clearly shows.

The Grand Arbor

That woodwork you see, other than the lattice, was hand cut, yes hand cut, from a recently felled Poplar treeĀ and then crafted by Lia and me. Same with the trellises, which along with the planting areas were meticulously chosen and laid out to achieve the best possible plant growth. The way we garden, in fact, is quite a bit like the way we manage Lia’s diabetes. Planning down to the minutest of details. Keeping record. Envisioning a positive outcome.

For their safety and our sanity, we’d even made special arrangements during the most fragile stages of the growing season to quarantine one of the most formidable double agents a garden can know.


Unfortunately, like diabetes, things don’t always turn out as planned and an eleven day absence on our end left the garden exposed to the herd of four legged creatures better known in our house as Venison and the garden suffered a fatal blow. (Side note: that marker is for Digger, the beloved dog I wrote about last week)

The culprit

The apocalypse?

As you can see, other than the arbor, there’s not a lot of green going on inside that fencerow. With the damage done, we unleashed the secondary echelon of crop destroyers and they saw the collapse to the bitter end.

And the Destroyers

There is a moral, I’m sure to this, some lesson I could take away connecting the dots in some logical fashion to the value of time and my attention. But I think I would rather view this year’s garden as not some agricultural failure but instead as a place of natural beauty and sustenance to those creatures with which we share our slice of the world.

After all, Fall and the hunting season are just around the corner.