I have approximately twenty-four mosquito bites on my legs. No exaggeration. I went into the garden to get the zucchini I knew was there and discovered that I actually have cucumbers. Four, and several more almost ready. So of course I picked them, plus some carrots for dinner, and I thought I felt foliage pricking the backs of my legs, but no: it was mosquitos. Twenty-four. I give in. No more shorts in the garden.

On the other hand: I have cucumbers! And Zahra zucchini! And herbs and carrots and green beans in the fridge! I ate mostly from the garden tonight: grilled zucchini with oregano, lemon (store) potatoes with parsley and basil, carrots and cucumber slices. It turns out Dragon carrots are beautiful beyond belief, but Red-Cored Chantenay taste better. In the next few days we’ll be making pickles, and I’ll be checking the tomatillos because I think they’re starting to form fruits but I’m not sure, and I’ll be harvesting more zucchini and trimming its leaves and tying up the tomatoes. In long pants.

We broke down and called Orkin about the carpenter ants in the kitchen. They had actually slowed down while we were gone, but now that we’re back, so are they, and I couldn’t take it anymore. Eric scheduled their visit yesterday at five. When I came home, the Orkin man was just going over paperwork and driving away. “The ants should be dead,” Eric reported, “and if not, they’ll come back again for free. It’s part of their guarantee.” I rejoiced. I wasn’t excited about mass murder of ants, but I wasn’t excited about never putting anything out on the counter again either, so I was ready to embrace better living through chemicals.

However, I went out to the garden today. (I’ve been working in the yard today and yesterday, making up steps for the walking challenge and also moving the daylilies because Eric can’t stand them anymore. I’m moving them to the bindweed-infested area by the driveway because in a daylily-versus-bindweed showdown, I might just put my money on daylilies. And if not, I still won’t have to weed as much.) I’m pleased to report that the corn is forming little cobs, about two per stalk, and I’m already planning a Corn Party. Also that one zucchini is swelling and that the beans are going strong. I am not pleased to report that the Orkin man sprinkled boric acid all through both of my gardens. Not just the part near the house, but all through them.

I admit that the vegetable garden borders the garage, and the garage has a leak in the roof, and therefore it’s not a bad place for ants to be nesting. Even though we haven’t seen the carpenter ants outside. Apparently the Orkin man also put boric acid on the tree on the very edge of our property, where if there are ants they’re more likely to bother the neighbors than us. I also admit that boric acid is not a huge deal, not dangerous to humans or massively bad for insects. I further admit that it’s not like the garden insects seem to have suffered, considering all the flies and leafhoppers and grasshoppers I saw as i was taking stock.

But I am displeased anyway. I decided not to bring harmful chemicals into my gardens (or not ones that the plants hadn’t made themselves, I suppose). I decided to live with the bugs. I decided that I wouldn’t live with the bugs inside, but I thought that was a separate decision. Apparently it wasn’t.

We’re just coming upon the height of summer and my house is already full of new seeds. Eric is uncomplaining, maybe because of the promise of good food for nothing, maybe because he doesn’t notice. Either way, I’m grateful. There are garlic bulbs and Sorrento broccoli seeds drying in the hall; peas and broad beans on the counter; bowls of Mom’s rosemary and our bleeding hearts tucked in corners. The rocket pods are still green, but I’m keeping an eye on them. Likewise the parsley. And once the tomatoes and peppers and squashes and beans start coming in, counter space will be a thing of the past.

Today will be a yardwork day–I need to move some plants and kill a lot of others, and spread some mulch and gravel, and get Eric to reseed parts of the lawn–but I want to check on the corn patch, too. I can see it from our second-story office window, across the garage roof, but that’s not good enough.

There’s one thing I’m finding abhorrent about gardening. This thing is: that I can’t garden without long pants and long sleeves or I’ll be eaten alive by mosquitos. I currently sport…let me count the throbbing spots…six from a quick sojourn today, planting fall peas and some more broccoli and beets, when I thoughtlessly went out in shorts and a tank top as befitted the weather.

I pulled a few beets to give more room to the others–I was shocked at how much they and the turnips grew while we were away. I have never eaten a beet before but I bit into a baby Chioggia today and I think I’m going to grow these things a lot. Not so sure about the turnips.

I also pulled out some lettuce plants. Some of them have transformed into these gorgeous pyramids, starting flowers and proudly wearing their leaves, but some of them haven’t, and I want seed from the ones that haven’t, so out they came. Poor beautiful failures.

I also harvested beans. There are Cherokee wax beans–the ones I planted around the Christmas tree, and I’m thinking that would have been a better idea with pole beans; these are bush and I don’t think I like that–and Trionfo Violettos. I planted some actual green green beans, Kentucky Wonders, today alongside the peas. I actually harvested my first beans Thursday, just before we rushed off to a Jonathan Coulton concert (which was excellent), along with a baby leek and a few stray last Golden Sweet pods, and these are them.

I harvested just as many today. I’m thinking roasted root vegetables and green beans sounds like a good dinner option.

Seattle was beautiful: much nicer weather than here–my family–ferry rides on the Sound–drives through Stevens Pass seeing snow while eating ice cream purchased in 80-degree weather. I brought back a souvenir: rosemary seeds from my mom’s plants. Hers live through her winter. She has the most beautiful strawberry patch, with the tastiest strawberries. Her secret: spread the slug bait long before the strawberries appear.

I noticed when we arrived last night that the anise hyssop was growing obscenely high and so were the weeds, and that my greenhouse had tipped over again. (I learned from the last two times, so it was empty and I didn’t care.) Today I donned my gardening duds and ventured into the garden.

Unholy mess indeed. There’s so much–the parsley is starting to set seed; the corn is flowering; the corn is taller than me; tomatoes already need more tying (which I delivered); green tomatoes are starting to appear; I have no idea how I’ll try to save seed from cucumbers with the tangles they’re in; the zucchini and potimarron have produced babies; the cucumbers will be ready soon; the leeks are looking like leeks; the broad beans are succumbing to neglect and bugs; the garlic was browning and fallen and I pulled half of it.

I have grown garlic! One of these has a round of bulbils, growing at ground level. I’m not sure if they’re mature but I’m definitely going to try planting them.

These will be pasta sauce someday soon.

And then there’s the herb garden, where the blueberry bush was under four inches of water in its pot. Poor thing. (I have a new baby blueberry bush from a couple of seeds I planted in my pot at work. They grew while I was gone so I brought a seedling home.) The beans are beaning; the Golden Sweet is dead, long live the Golden Sweet; the dill and cilantro are flowering again so I cut them back; so are the oregano and lemon balm and they can go to it; the feverfew and safflower might be too; I pulled the Sorrento broccoli plants to dry the seed indoors; the Chinese cabbage are looking good again.

Unholy mess, indeed. The weeds are everywhere, of course, but not as unbearable as I’d thought. A week in July wasn’t crucial. The garden is leaping into life, and though I’m scrambling to catch up, I’m rejoicing in its fervor.

My pot of tiny Mother of Millions babies has sprouted company.

Look at these cute little mushrooms. I can just hear their tiny adorable voices, saying, “Hi–you suck!”

Regardless, I killed these mushrooms. I watered the other houseplants and strung up the tomatoes and cucumbers, and pulled out some of the terrible cilantro-smelling weed in the front bed, and tipped the four inches of water out of the blueberry pot. I gather it’s not draining well anymore. I’m headed for Seattle for a week to visit my family. I’m going to miss my first zucchini while I’m gone, and I expect the garden to be an unholy mess; but that’s what I get for vacationing in the summer, and it’s worth it. See you in a week!

I found this little guy on my patch of Chantenay Red Core carrots a couple of days ago. The carrot patches are jungles of insects–beetles, flies, the occasional ladybug, and this grasshopper. I looked up grasshoppers and I should have killed him, but I probably wouldn’t have anyway. I’m not very afraid of locusts eating my crops (though I did read the Laura Ingalls Wilder books) and I’m kind of glad to see all these insects hanging around, as long as they don’t overstay their welcome. I feel like a proud hostess.

My garden is drowning. My whole house is afloat. Not literally; there’s some water in the basement but that’s because we didn’t clean the gutters in the spring (or the fall). I think. I may have contributed to it when I dug the herb garden.

The herb garden is on the side of the house, you see, a fairly narrow swath of lawn that was absolutely useless to us except in increasing the exercise Eric got while mowing. So I claimed it: I killed the grass and added soil amendments and dug beds and paths. I dug down to make the paths. It made sense at the time; I wanted elevated beds to discourage rabbits (which was worked beautifully, unless the rabbits wouldn’t come that close to the house anyway, but I doubt that) and digging down made more sense than adding dirt since we were on a tight budget. I didn’t think about how we still don’t have a rain barrel for the gutter that comes down that side of the house. I didn’t think about the torrential summer rains.

And now it’s raining heavily for the third or fourth time in three days. The driveway is awash; the neighbor’s pool is noticeably fuller than it was; and my herb garden is drowning. The paths are flooded. Spots in the beds that weren’t quite high enough, like where I planted the new turnips and basil, are flooded. The gutter opens onto the path. Which I figured was better than rushing out onto a bed–maybe this is actually better than planting things flat, without the grass to soak up the water–for the garden if not the house. I never did put in a rain garden. There are daylilies and hostas that were already there, but that’s all. When the floodwaters recede, I may need to rethink things. And possibly replant.

I’m feeling kind of fussed and discouraged and downcast for no good reason. Especially since I got the quilting done I needed to and I think I won a contest at work and the freelance work I’ve been discussing is moving forward more quickly than I thought. Okay, I know the reason: it’s weird living alone again, even temporarily. I guess I did have a reason for keeping Eric around after all.

But my life is good, even though the storm kept me from getting any kale for dinner, and there are pictures to prove it. Here is my tiny guest of honor in the herb garden:

It’s a Cherokee wax bean, and it’s less than an inch long. Well, it was; it rained terrifically and then was sunny and then rained again, so this thing may be the size of my index finger by now. I’ll check tomorrow if it isn’t still raining.

(The very brown pine branches in the back are from the dead Christmas tree that’s supporting the beans. I think I made a few people at our ice cream party seriously doubt my competence when they saw that and thought it was supposed to be growing there.)

Behold: I have now gotten further growing indigo than I ever have before!

And then there’s this lovely little thing.

Carol gave me her borage seeds this past winter, saying she wasn’t going to plant them this year, they were so huge and reseeded so much. (She moved this year from a community plot to her own backyard, by the by, so there are none in her garden to my knowledge.) My borage plants are still very short–about a foot tall–but this one has made the first move, and I love it. I will taste later flowers to see if they really do taste like cucumber. (Not that I doubt, you know, the entire gardening world; it’s just best to verify these things for oneself.)