Our garden is a jungle of beautiful, edible goodness. Morning dew settles on flowering tomato plants. Spiders weave webs among ripening raspberries. Spiky, green cucumbers hide under sprawling vines, trailing beyond the straw mulch into the surrounding meadow. Peas hang amidst delicate tendrils, reaching for a holding place. Chamomile has taken over edges here and there — even sprouting and thriving in the chicken run. More calendula blooms each day, making flowers faster than I can pick for bouquets and salve.
Daisies thrive in front of our house and along the fence line. Onions do their thing. Garlic swells under the earth, the edges of its leaves tinged brown among dozens of volunteer borage plants. Bees swarm the fuzzy borage flowers.
Carrots grow — slow and steady — only the very tips of orange peeking out of the soil. Parsley is abundant in all stages — young and lush, mature and flowering. Marigolds smell slightly skunky as I kneel down among the vegetation to get a bug’s eye view. Kale keeps giving and giving. Celery loves its companion dill.
I soak in the abundance. I let it wash over me. This garden, this little place on earth, is so good to us. We give a little and we are rewarded one-hundred fold. It is overwhelmingly wonderful in July — wandering through and eating out of this jungle of a garden.