The summer weather was more severe, but life in summer continued as so many before it. Those beleaguered heirloom tomatoes did eventually come along, in September. And they were good, but fewer in number and a few weeks later.
But, this year, the garden delivered something new. The melon vines loved the hot weather and by early September I had collected six edible, lovely and delicious Charentais melons. This was quite a success and I may plant these again next year.
Penne with fresh tomatoes and Basil (from the hundreds of plants!)
Visitors
Twenty years ago when I first moved here, I would sit outside on the those peaceful summer nights and the bats would begin to appear about 7:00pm. They would begin to fly lower as the darkness came, until those little bats would often fly right in front me, just a few feet away.
And then a few years later they vanished and I have never seen them again.
Yes, it has been many years, but almost every night in the summer I very briefly look for them. So, each evening begins a little sadly when I sit to finish my dinner wine. I am always a little melancholy. I never forget them and always look up into the trees in the western sky from where I once saw them approach. I am hoping that they have returned. That thought makes me unhappy because they have not.
Something so ancient no longer appears in its natural and proper place, when and where it has existed for an incomprehensible amount of time.
But I have other visitors who come, attracted to the hundreds of zinnias that bloom in my three flower gardens. The wondrous and nearly magical little creatures visit fairly often, and I know something is still right with the world when they visit. I always stop immediately and watch them. Sometimes I can photograph them, but it is nothing to look at the photo when compared to meeting them in person. I’ve read that the oldest fossils of these magical creatures date to 50 million years ago.
Many things on this unfathomable ancient earth continue and my life has more meaning because I am part of it.
It is Summer 2025 and the weather has given two distinct seasons through June and July. The first was very hot and dry with temperatures consistently near 90. Next, came the deluge of rain. It feels like a tropical forest during the last several weeks. The weather is so moist, humid, warm and dense that I have found white fungus patches growing in the soil near several plants. A deluge of rain.
“Apres moi, le deluge.” The King’s famous statement was not made in reference to the weather, but every time I think of the word “deluge” that phrase comes to mind. While Louis XV made his remorseless statement about the destructive effect that the powerful will leave behind after their departure, in our case, the deluge was exactly what we needed!
“After the flood, the tomatoes!”
My main concern was that my favorite heirloom tomato plants were barren of fruits until July 21st. I have not seen this in many years and felt a little unhappy each morning as I examined the weary plants. Heirlooms are not hybrid plants, and therefore are not artificially disease resistant, and certainly not heat resistant. They refused any pollination until the temperature mercifully dropped for a few days, and 7 days later they had many little tomatoes. If the temperature is too hot, they get tired and rather listless.
The one who dislikes intense heat, may catch a disease or two, or become bored or weary. Yet, somewhere within this being lies a feeling of purpose in the present, the desire to survive and possibly even flourish.
These conditions seem familiar, don’t they? The real world tells the truth if we can see it and learn from it.
Still, next year I will plant less of this variety of tomato as I have learned that our local climate seems wrong for it. It may thrive in a milder or more suitable climate. Sometimes we are forced to change. Knowing when to change is a valuable skill to have. However, it can be a rather painful one to learn.
Well, as the tomato branches slept the melon vines crept, and what entertaining plants they are! If I sat in the middle of the this dense chaos for one night, I would expect to be held captive by these Vines Of Charentais, dragged through the Field of Lillies, into the Dark Wood. I don’t know what would happen then, but I do think about it.
The Vines of Charentais melons, threatening to cover everything in sight!
As of today, these lovely vines are a perfectly harmless variety of honeydew melon cultivated in France. These started from seeds in early May and they, unlike some of their neghbor plants, seem to enjoy our climate this summer.
These seeds came from Botanical Interests seed company, and they have many interesting plants you will never find at a garden center.
“Heirloom” seeds are handed off from one generation of gardeners to another. I think “heirloom” may not be an accurate adjective, but it is accepted. There is a much greater effort than trading and selling seed packets. “Heirloom” seed companies are agricultural entities. There are associations across the USA such as organic farming and sustainable agriculture groups that have a great interest in cultivating and spreading the use of organic seeds. The organic farming and food movements are growing every year, all over the world and what a very good thing that is.
The real heirlooms, the past.
There are other types of heirlooms, the various objects that have been present in our lives for decades. In that sense, this is certainly an heirloom, but it is more than that. This girl’s image has been known to people for over 4 centuries. (Rembrandt, or his studio, 1645).
This Rembrandt print, in its ornate antique wooden frame, has been watching me for as long as I can remember. I think I have lived with it for my entire life. I am not sure really when it appeared. It was in my parent’s house, found its place later into my first house, and has been watching my living room in the present place for the last 21 years.
Unlike a family heirloom it doesn’t remind me of my past. It is a view of the ancient past but its effect is in the present. That could be said of all great art, I suppose. But stranger yet, it will outlive me and look over someone else one day.
Here is to the present and last night’s home-made pesto, a real Chardonnay and waning bird songs in the evening.
The Gardens of August 2025
One day, I will take a good photograph of a hummingbird. It is very difficult to do, but now it is a daily activity to wait for these incredible little creatures. I sit with my Canon 250mm lens in hand, and relax in the sun waiting for their rare appearences.
I like my property here, but I sometimes feel that I would like to have much more of it. Although, I couldn’t maintain much more. Maybe I would rather just live in a place where there is more forest. I’ve read about people building “tiny” houses on rural land and I like the idea very much. But the photos I’ve seen of “tiny houses” don’t look very good to me. They seem much too compact.
In addition, I have noticed that some of the new Garden Sheds have quite nice designs.
If I had to, I could sell my house, buy several of these and some rural land, and build Garden Shed Estates. It would need a foundation, though.
Yet, at this time in my life, I still have no shed.
It is June, the trees are in full bloom, and the birdies are singing!
The gardens (plural!) have survived the cold evenings and look pretty healthy thus far. Although a few of the plant population are unhappy and not feeling well. I am hoping that the chicken manure application will make them feel better.
Ah, there is the potato I buried several months back.
I like my current place to live better than all my previous dwellings. It has been very comfortable and peaceful here the last 20 years. There are occasional interesting visitors but not many or very often. I’ll bet the neighbors didn’t know this individual was near the front door! And then he just seemed to vanish.
These days my time is spent well. Sometimes I just sit and think about life and all that I have learned thus far, and what comes next. Or, I can read the great books. I have been reading and re-reading some Bertrand Russell essays. He is one of my favorite writers of the 20th century. I recently found a classic book in near mint condition, printed 1957 (2nd printing, original released in 1956). Purchased on-line from the AbeBooks website. Cheaply made re-print paperbacks are selling for the same price. What a scandal.
Good Queen Bess approves of this mint condition treasure.
There is guitar (for me) and music as a lifelong passion. But that is always yours, once you acquire it. It is the musical memory that evokes pleasing chords or melodies. But I don’t think that is inspiration
I can still learn by example, but it would have to be something exceptional.
What could that be? Who do I currently admire enough such that they also could be an inspiration?
Well, here is the great Sir Henry of Fox Manor who demonstrates the necessary enthusiasm to pursue a meaningful life.
The Legend, himself.
The wise use of leisure, it must be conceded, is a product of civilization and education. A man who has worked long hours all his life will be bored if he becomes suddenly idle. But without a considerable amount of leisure a man is cut off from many of the best things. There is no longer any reason why the bulk of the population should suffer this deprivation; only a foolish asceticism, usually vicarious, makes us insist on work in excessive quantities now that the need no longer exists.
In Praise Of Idleness, 1932 Harper’s Magazine. Bertrand Russell.
IX. Can anything be sillier than the point of view of certain people—I mean those who boast of their foresight? They keep themselves very busily engaged in order that they may be able to live better; they spend life in making ready to live! They form their purposes with a view to the distant future; yet postponement is the greatest waste of life; it deprives them of each day as it comes, it snatches from them the present by promising something hereafter. The greatest hindrance to living is expectancy, which depends upon the morrow and wastes to-day.
De Brevitate Vitae, Seneca. (middle first century AD)
It is May 2025 and the earth is awake once again. It is time to live through another beauitiful season, with the vibrant greens and golds and the smell of evergreens and sage, and the perfume of short-lived honeysuckle flowers. And not to forget building fences to stop the rabbits from wrecking everything! How fortunate for me to live through it all another year.
So, the gardens have been planted a little early this year. When I first moved here I had one vegetable garden but in April I have added plot number seven. But alas, this is the unpredictable May and it has gone cold again.
I have had a few good days working in the hot sun and I feel alive again. But the cold and rainy days have returned and sent me back down to the cellar into the comfort of ale and books.
The dark forest awaits my evening stroll, but it’s time to start a new book so back to the cellar I’ve gone to find a suitable story for cold, dark, rainy nights.
The cellar is a reading room, bar, and library all in one.
It’s the bar here in the pub, complete with old posters that I purchased in England and Paris decades ago. The place is mostly inhabited by ghosts of the distant literary past, and myself of course and a few other sentient beings including several who walk on four legs. For a few nights there are no thoughts of sunny days, but rather a pint of ale, a hazy smoke and a mystery in the rainy evenings. This means selecting another volume from British Library Crime classics.
Fuller London Pride. (‘Pale Ale’ in the bottle or ‘Bitter’ on draft). Davidoff Winston Churchill Petite Corona, and It Walks By Night.
The British Library Press has released an alluring series of British Crime novels, from the classic period between the wars. These books are reprints of long lost and forgotten titles from the 1920s and 30s. Many of them were popular in their time but all have long been out of print. It is a collection of treasures for people who love the crime classics. The book pictured here is from the one American writer in the series, John Dickson Carr. Like several other American writers of that era he spent much time living in England, and his stories are set in England.
I love books and they have been overflowing my table until recently when I bought a new bookshelf to keep them tidy. Or, what passes for “tidy” at my house. I have many which I purchased decades ago at Barnes and Noble, and other book sellers. I miss those places. There are still bookstores in America and you can order many on-line. But older books are better quality, and bibliophiles love to collect them.
Now, I have found the best way to live is to have many interests, and preferably those which bring you great pleasure and also stimulate your imagination. And, sometimes you can learn more about the world both past and present.
But even small pleasures such as the taste of classic English ale are a treat while reading a story. This makes me appreciate my past, and what I have found along the way through life. My present good experiences make me anticipate more simple pleasures in the very near future. Say, tomorrow I hope.
Sam Smith India Ale. Classic Yorkshire Ale and my favorite.
So, I am not thinking about the slight delay in my outdoor activities now that I’ve turned my attention to the “locked-room mystery” in an old house from the distant past.
I don’t think I am very successful at guessing the criminals in these stories, as the brilliant detective always uncovers some fact which no one else could have seen. The language of that era was beautiful which is a prime reason why I read old books. But additionally, I can travel back to live in another era for a short time. Or, in this case I can make an attempt to solve a mystery. Travelling through time is a satisfying way to spend several grey and wet days in May.
After this I really do need to finish that lovely hard cover I started last year, entitled The Great Plague. What a mess that was! I can say I am relieved that my brief time of human existence was not in the 17th century where the plague victims had to be stacked outside the house front door because the church yards were full.
Oh, the vibrant colors of summer. It is the season of flavors and cuisine which I associate only with this time of year. It has been a very good season for most of my favorite summer plants, all grown here in the gardens of my “hidden” estate. I hope it stays hidden for the rest of my days and I believe it will, but I do fear the psychosis called “progress” coming too near and too soon. Some of us do not want it, or embrace it.
But “Don’t fear the future” the positive thought psychologists tell us. But what is the future? If it is tomorrow, next month or six months we might have reason to, if not fear it, simply dislike the change we see coming. Isn’t that alright?
You’ll be dead in six months, your favorite places will be destroyed, soil air and water are being diminished, but don’t fear the future!
Ah, I see, so everything is going “according to plan” ?
Even if I could somehow discover an ancient Cloak of Invisibility and place it over the hidden estate, it wouldn’t stop the so-called “progress” from simply bothering me! Not even medieval era Arthurian legend can save me.
Well, I can still love and respect the vibrant season. I can have these earthly delights from my own garden, and not buying produce for several months is a pleasure. Then, I wait until next year to have them again.
All of this gardening activity brings ideas of what to change for next year. I have 6 planting areas, but I have discovered that I need one or two more.
This season I had 20 tomato plants of the following varieties:
Mortgage Lifter (heirloom), Rutgers (heirloom), Cuore de bue (Italian heirloom from seed “Oxheart”), Chef’s Choice Orange (a hybrid from the heirloom Amana), and Early Girl (popular hybrid).
Notice the heart shaped tomato on the left, a cuore de bue.
I know that hybrid tomatoes are bred for quantity and disease resistance. I never plant these “hybrid” types but I was too anxious this spring and I haven’t had them for years. They are perfect looking probably because the skins are thick. This protects from bugs, disease, splitting, etc, but they do not taste as good as the natural heirloom tomatoes. They are good, however, for making sauces and that I did. But no more “hybrids” for me.
Heirloom tomatoes are never perfect and are disease-prone because they’re complex organisms living on planet earth.
But these taste wonderful! I’ll take it.
Some of the many basil plants grown from seed.
Pesto from these beautiful basil plants is the one dish I miss the most in the winter. But unless I have basil from MY garden, I can’t make my beloved pesto. That’s it! It’s another summer time dish. Well, I can admit to an occasional store bought jar in January when I just miss it too badly to wait until July.
Pesto a la Genovese, Zucchini and home grown garlic sauteed in pan and seasoned with lemon and olive oil.
For many years I purchased 40 plants from the garden center. I would then dig 40 holes for these plants. But I don’t do that any more. These are all planted from seed which I collect from the dry flowers.
I’ve started collecting them this week, for next year.
Floriculture in front of house.
The vibrant summer has a few weeks left. The humming birds are still on the Rose of Sharon and zinnia flowers and the gold finches are still eating sunflower seeds.
This summer of 2024 has been a joy for me. Starting May 1st I had the earliest planting season of my lifetime. Consistent and, sometimes abundant rain, the usual intense sunshine, and that seemingly tropical humidity have made the gardens grow well. So, I can see that nature is still functioning here in the Great Lakes region, and that is my most pleasant daily experience. Having thorns and splinters stick my fingers is not pleasant, nor is the persistent sore back. But I don’t mind a little pain to remind me that I am alive.
Here is a Yellow Swallowtail butterfly tasting the zinnia nectar. I don’t remember seeing one before, so it was a surprise to see this one.
And a few days later, the Black Swallowtail butterfly visited the zinnia garden.
I know that nature (sometimes called the “Universe”) is chaos and unpredictable, but in the same place comes complexity, beauty, and intelligence.
Row of wildflowers bordering the “dark woods.”
Moving from the real world to the mythological one, if I had 1000 acres of woods it would be a perfect habitat for Anglo-Saxon mythological characters. I wouldn’t mind a few ghosts, especially if they were the disembodied spirits of well-known ancient characters. Goblins could be dangerous and unpleasant. Charles Dickens tells us a tale about goblins in “The Goblins who Stole a Sexton”. I would hope the foxes scare them off, but I haven’t seen many this year.
I know they are here at night, and they are a welcome sight when I do see them, usually in the early evening.
A good life for me is a natural life. One in which I see trees, plants, soil and anything that grows in the earth. And I must see it every day. I have to see the evergreens, and the bright flowers and the green vegetable gardens in the three seasons where life is colorful and vibrant.
From early May to late October I am outside almost every day for several hours. In May and June my hands are always in the dirt, and I am very happy that way. It feels good to be dirty from top to bottom, with the sun blasting me! Over the last 35 years, this is my normal condition daily in the warm weather months.
It’s pretty bleak, of course, in the winter but still alive. Those dark, thorny honeysuckle branches where a large hawk will rest is always a living image of the coming winter. But the late fall can be nice as well. As late as early December, when the flora is dormant, I am out trimming the hedges, bushes, and small trees.
January through April here in Northern Illinois can be tedious for me, and I don’t feel as alive and happy and healthy as the Spring through Fall. But I have music to keep me company and many other interests.
I always wanted a little house and piece of property so I can live with some autonomy and have real life around me. It isn’t a large place, but it’s enough. When you live in a place, it eventually resembles the type of person who lives there.
Just the sight of sparrows diving and flying from the trees to the patio is a daily joy. I can’t live any other way. When I can no longer have this life, then I know that my end won’t be long in coming. That’s alright. It is a Good Life now.
The Civilized Man 