I am not an ambitious gardener. Once I considered laying down a cold frame, and I did buy a few pear trees. I dropped the first idea when I thought of a deer planting a hoof through the glass, and the pear trees themselves mocked the second: only one of them ever producing fruits, and those as hard as rocks.
After planting this spring, we barely touched the garden all summer. Other commitments, headaches, and sloth intervened. We have irrigation hoses laid in the raised beds, so the garden did not suffer when rain turned to drought, and a neighbor looked in on it from time to time, but mostly, like modern children, it took its own way. Some plants gave up the ghost — peas, beans. Others flourished as if nothing was amiss.
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