This was a glorious golden day here in northeastern Kansas. Gentle sun, mild wind, A mid-day high of 66ºF. Perfect for a work-starved gardener who was aching to get his hands into the dirt again. It was one of the spectacular dozen days we get here every year, the majority in early Spring, with two or three left for September. That's right, twelve perfect days a year is all I can count on here and one is already gone. Actually, at least three are gone because there were two great days this week that I missed entirely while I perfected my indoor fluorescent tan at work.
I was almost sidetracked today by an early morning veterinary emergency, but I was home by 11:30 a.m. and in the garden by noon. My first move was to uncover my formerly beautiful strawberry patch, praying that green budding strawberry plants would lay beneath the straw and deer droppings. And there they were, rumpled and a bit put out from missing several good days of sunshine, but seemingly game to get going. Since the ground was dry clay powder to the depth of 2-3 inches, I watered them, and surrounded the unsheathed shade house by a stretch of snow fence in an effort to keep the deer from sampling the new foliage. My strawberry dream is still intact, still safe despite the very real potential of late snows, marauding creatures, drowning rains, drought, and perhaps a plague of locusts.
You can see from the picture above that I also cut back the majority of my ornamental grasses, shortening the average height of my garden by half in a single afternoon. Tying each bunch into a sheave before cutting it off is a little trick I learned several years ago to help me keep the garden tidy (or, more truthfully, to keep Mrs. ProfessorRoush from complaining about my habit of strewing grass stems all over the garden). As an added bonus, seeing all those sheaves of grass standing and waiting to be cut touches an ancient spot buried deep in my psyche, connecting me to those first agriculturists who decided that grain might be a little tough to chew, but it was surely better than being trampled by a Mastodon. Indeed, Mastodons may be gone from Kansas, but the grasses and strawberries and I struggle on, rejoicing in each perfect golden day that we can..
