The Daily: 6 July 2026

Nature, having stridently and unambiguously declared Her many objections to the hatred and corruption on flagrant display in my country’s center this week, decided to release us from the hellscape weather Her fury has inflicted upon us of late, instead gifting central Vermont with an absolutely divine day. No smoke. No crushing heat and humidity. No cold blight. No lightning, no thunder, flood or wind. Just radiant sunshine on glittering on green leaves. Just birdsong and comforting warmth. Just the mildest breeze that banished the stagnant fog and the lingering sulfuric remnants of last night’s festivities.

There were still sirens this morning… Because a boy in possession of explosives simply does not know when to quit. (And all men are rendered into prepubescents by same…) But I do not think anything burned down in this year’s patriotic revelries. Nothing more lasting than scorch marks on the roads and the odd scrap of colorful paper fluttering on the breeze.

So, we survived the Fourth mostly unscathed and lived to see one whole and perfect Fifth.

After spending the holiday hiding from the blast furnace heat and transcontinental smoke (we were under air quality alerts since Thursday afternoon), I was chomping at the bit to get outdoors and do something. I didn’t much care what. So after getting the yogurt fermenting and the bread dough rising, I went out to water my porch pots. It was so lovely that I decided to eat my oatmeal on the porch, where I watched a minute pumpkin spider weave a geometrically precise web suspended from struts that spanned the width of my porch. Apparently, using the ubiquitous tree branches in my garden as support structures was for amateurs. The lines she laid down were ten to twelve times as long in all directions as her web diameter and orders of magnitude larger than her body — which I could barely see. I did warn her about the high probability of some large blundering beast (such as myself) ripping the web apart accidentally, becoming aware of it only in the collision, as well as the relatively low likelihood of catching prey on the porch with all the insects buzzing about the garden and not anywhere near her web. But I suppose Art must not be denied, practicality be damned… And it was a stunning creation!

Oatmeal having been eaten and spiderweb having been admired, I ventured out to the garden. It is that season where drastic changes take place as soon as you turn your gaze elsewhere. Having been mostly housebound for the better part of a week, I was not surprised to find that ALL THE RASPBERRIES had gone from tiny green nodules to fat, red jewels in the last few days, despite the foul weather — or maybe because of it. I picked a couple quarts. Two baking trays of berries are in the freezer now. Many ended up as dinner. (I’ve been on a no-cook kick, eating mostly fruit, yogurt and toast for days now…)

The raspberry bushes are on the house side of the road which I’ve been a bit more diligent at maintaining than the veg garden side. So, given the raspberry explosion, I was a bit apprehensive about what I’d find on the neglected side. And, yes, the oxalis and crabgrass and plantains had colonized nearly every bit of the paths between beds. But there was no evidence of further groundhog devastation. The squashes, tomatoes and even some of the sweet potatoes are rebounding. The beans are rambling over everything but the carefully constructed support structures I set out for them (they apparently agree with the pumpkin spider). I found a ripe Anaheim chile on a plant labeled “purple beauty sweet pepper” (sigh…). The potatoes are flowering and flopping over, meaning that they are starting to focus on tubers. I might actually have new potatoes for Lughnasadh. And there were marigolds blooming cheerily in the tomato bed.

But the best discovery was the peas. Best… and most annoying…

You know, I’m always careful to plant varieties that have different maturation periods and to sow a few seeds at a time in succession so that not everything is ready for harvest at once. And yet… It never fails but that every last pea is ripe on the same day. This was that day.

I spent about forty minutes just picking them off the plants, with the occasional bout of weed pulling as I moved around the bed. Then I spent over an hour shelling them all. By the time I was done with that part of the project, the sun had slunk around my house and was warming up my kitchen so that I was reluctant to blanch the peas for the freezer. So that task has yet to be done. But I have about three quarts. Which is quite enough pea harvest for me… though I will undoubtedly try to grow another round in the autumn. Because I don’t know when to quit either on some things…

Along with the peas, I also deemed the garlic ready for scape harvest. I don’t actually remember planting this much garlic. I probably didn’t… Garlic seems to magically traipse around my garden, popping up where I’m quite sure I’ve never sunk a clove. In any case, I cut a basketful of the unruly goosenecks. It’s hard to judge quantity of garlic scapes because they will not confine themselves to a neat pile. But, as it is, it’s four gallon bags of scapes. Not sure what I’m going to do with all that. I guess one bag is going to work tomorrow to repay a co-worker for the ramps he shared a couple months ago. But that still leaves me with a whole lot… I suspect there will be quiche added to the freezer, probably potato-garlic flatbreads or empanadas, perhaps sautéed scapes on pasta, maybe scapes and tomatoes on toast…

But all that means that I have to turn on the stove…

So here’s hoping the fine weather holds for a bit. Like, maybe until August…

Because once the scapes and peas are stored away or eaten, another week of change will have passed. And there are a boatload of highbush cranberries visible from my front porch. And those rambling beans and tomatoes will, no doubt, require some work here soon. And the raspberries are only getting started. And before I know it, the potato vines will be turning yellow and the apples will be turning red… And then it’s time to plant for fall harvest…

July is a month of endurance. Just keep at it and stay on task and don’t worry too much about the loose ends. It all works out somehow or another, despite your efforts. And then suddenly there are swathes of orange on the tops of the maples and the sun is setting before bedtime and the heat in the kitchen is no longer a torment but a blessing.

But today is not that day… even as congenial as it is in comparison to the past week… The slog through July has only just begun.

At least there are rewards!

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©Elizabeth Anker 2026