They grow so fast. Sure, that’s what they all say but then when I shlep my kids in to the pediatrician she breaks out those charts and explains to me exactly how my little spouts are not measuring up. I feed them, I nap them, I do everything short of putting them on medieval stretcher and pulling but still my kids refuse to register on the charts. Ingrates. Not that I care. I’m over it. (Did that sound convincing? If not I could tell you what I really think of the epidemic of big-mac munching toddlers that are ruining the growth curve for everybody else.)
But again, I digress. My kids are small, be that as it may. For now let’s talk about how much my actual sprouts have grown. The green ones, that is. Here, live from the garden, are results from the 3-month check-up:
The raspberries are a’ripening. So what that my octogenarian neighbor has been harvesting buckets of his dark berries for three weeks now. He’s got all that southern exposure. Besides, my berries are coming, see that one there? It’s too early to worry that there won’t be enough for berry parfaits in January. So nope, I’m not worried.
Besides, check out our baby Georgia peach tree. Yes, that’s right, those tiny nubbers are Georgia peaches. Rock hard, yes, smaller than my fist, sure, but they’re trying, and I’m supporting their valiant, trans-continental effort.
And hey, ten points for our apples. These guys are hanging heavy from every branch. Three years ago we had enough to fill every container we owned with applesauce and keep the family in pies through Thanksgiving. I heard it through the grapevine that apples fruit in spades every three years. And frankly, when it comes to growing apples, who better to trust than a grapevine?
Meanwhile, back in the garden plot, the cucumbers show signs of doing something other than playing dead, and the good-for-nothing lazy squash finally got off its duff and set out some nice dark leaves. Things are going so well that I practically ran out and bought the next size up for my impressive bloomers; that is, until I saw my friend Emily’s veggies. Sigh. I know a mother shouldn’t compare. But seeing her leggy-green bad boys reaching for the stars made my little sprouts seem positively infantile. What? My peas should be fruiting and my squash blossoms full? But it’s only July, and they’re such sweet little leafy things, and they are well adjusted and look she can write her own name and sing the ABCs, and oops, slipped off track again. Sorry.
Squishy squash and belated berries aside, you’ve got to see the tomatoes. Here’s Acadia measuring up (well, not measuring up) against the big bad tomato plants. Yes, those are their leafy limbs crawling sky-ward above her head. And no, I’m not worried that her green cousin towers above her diminutive frame. Why not? I’ll tell you a secret: I filled her bed with compost; so you see, pretty soon she’ll be jetting back up towards that 5th percentile. Besides, I’ve got two months before her five year check-up. And with her toes wiggling in richly composted soil, and all those garden-bound cousins of hers she’ll be consuming, I just know this will be the year she’ll blow those dang charts away.