Journal: July 8
7/8/93
The ground is really astonishingly dry. I pulled a few weeds yesterday in the mulched area of my garden, and the soil under the mulch was as dry as in the unprotected areas, where it is hard as a rock. We are hoarding all our gray water now, with the exception of the water that goes down the toilet, and putting it on the garden, which is probably why we still have squash and cucumbers (of which we have just begun to harvest a few).
P– is wonderful about moving the water around (he says Jews have been interested in the subject for thousands of years), and Tuesday night, when I was at writing group, hitched up the hose to reach the garden. We bought a soaker hose, and I think I will begin cautiously watering parts of the garden each night with it, though I worry about my well in times like these. We have had one not very enthusiastic rain in ages.
Moving hoses around doesn’t interest me in the least, though walking in the garden is very distressing because of the dryness. The leaves of everything are pale and hanging limply, even plants like the phlox, which grow from rootstock that must be many decades old.
The daylilies are blooming so bravely, in their parched patches of soil. The colors are beautiful, and most of the single roots I planted last year sent up 2-3 fans of leaves, with 1-2 bloomstocks per fan. The buds are fat. Each day it’s a joy to look out the window and see a new bright red, or salmon, or lemon-yellow flower against the green backdrop of woods. The daylily bed that is doing least well is the one I prepared most carefully, at the edge of the garden near the mulberry tree.
Planted a few more tomato plants a few days ago, most of them in the bed near the hammocks where I had beans last year. I put dirt from under the rabbit hutch in the holes before planting, and have kept the water to them. They don’t get as much sun as the rest of the garden, which may be a mistake, but at least they will remain alive. The Romas I planted earlier in the season have green tomatoes on them.
We have just passed full moon, and this morning, when I awoke (by the alarm — I haven’t been sleeping well, partly because I have an underlying anxiety I can’t get entirely beyond because of the lack of rain), I looked out the bedroom window and saw a large, irregular white patch of moonlight stretched across the side lawn. Beyond it, against the woods, was another irregular pale patch — the clothes on the line. Now the moonlight is gone, and the sky is lightening. Another day is on its way.
I have been getting up at 4 or 5 each morning to have a couple of hours to write what I want to write, drink coffee, and eat some fruit and a bagel or English muffin (I have been diverted to cornflakes, skim milk, and raspberries), walk around a little in the cool morning air, and get down to work. Or I go to work at Mayland. Yesterday, I was there only a short time, and checked out the mineral and rock collection. I again cast covetous eyes on the two beryl crystals and tourmaline piece from the Ray Mine. I think we’ll be returning to the Ray Mine soon.
It is hot, hot, hot. J– at Twisted Laurel said it was 93 in Spruce Pine yesterday. Unbelievable.