Friday, August 1, 2008

Moon Vine.

The ten-day is looking a little bleak. It's deeply, abidingly hot. We didn't get enough rain last night, although I don't want to talk too badly about the tiny storm, a late-night afterthought after the big afternoon line rumbled through here and broke apart and gave us nothing much to look at but wind. Here's a hopeful radar shot from just pre-tiny storm:

That thing managed to hold together and rain for the better part of half an hour or maybe even forty-five minutes, and then overnight we picked up another secret tenth, all of which is good for the moon vine, which I'd always thought was a moonflower, but which all the farmer's markets around these parts sell (in the late spring in little black four-inch pots) as moon vines. They're glorified nighttime morning glories, and if I thought I could quit my job and make a living selling ten-cent seeds for four dollars, I would, but I think you have to be selling hostas and tomato plants and herbs and all that, too, and I can barely handle the stress of growing my own plants for my own enjoyment, so. It's exorbitant, the four dollars, but worth it come August evenings when the flowers open up right around dusk.

It's hot and too dry. With a little work, though, and occasional rain, that weather's good enough for tomatoes and for moon vines. Fruit all over the place out there, and flowers. They're all tangled up in each other. Problematic, but not fatal. It's not symbiosis. It's more like d├ętente. Which is how I feel about August.

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