The heavy rains of the last two nights have drenched my gardens to their thirsty roots. Today in the welcome warmth of the sun, my children and I weeded the rows of new lettuce, the beans getting visibly taller day by day, and the lush tomato and basil plants. I found a volunteer mustard plant from last year's seed, and a few gladiolas that managed to overwinter despite the bulb killing frost. One pink ladyslipper beneath the old spruce has stayed in splendid bloom since Memorial Day.
The wildflower gardens are also transitioning from the ephemerals of spring to June glories. Butterfly weed is preparing to blossom and a rain of new plants from sailing seeds is colonizing new patches. The clumps of blue and yellow-eyed grass wink at the sun, and the bee balm is a yard high at least.
The raspberries and black cap canes are in flower, as are the high and low bush blueberries. The bare root strawberries and just starting to leaf, but the compost that forms their new bed is sprouting volunteer pumpkins from last year's Jack 'o Lanterns.
If you measure the season by the intervals between mowing the lawn, you miss all the others movements, unfurlings and fadings that make up the growing time. I like to walk out to the garden gate and watch the tassels of grass in the twilight and their winking fireflies. I like to see what is new and what is still to come in the garden and the world beyond.