Cautiously optimistic

I'm trying not to be toooooo smug about my vegetable garden this summer, but so far things are looking good.

After last summer's gardening disaster, thanks to Mother Nature and rain almost every day of June and much of July, I was skeptical about even planting a garden this year. I scaled back my usual 24 tomato seedlings to 18; I planted only a few mounds of cucumber, zucchini, and summer squash seeds; I reluctantly planted 12 green pepper seedlings only because Ken insisted I should; and I sat back and waited for seeds and seedlings to be washed away or rotted during the month of June.

But that didn't happen. In fact, we've had unusually good gardening weather this year: occasional rain, much heat, and a lot of humidity. My garden seems to be happy and contented.

The tomatoes are already outdoing last year's crop, and new buds are emerging every day. The green peppers look the best I've seen in my garden in years.

Everything else is coming along nicely, too. The basil, as you can see in the header, is growing abundantly.

I realize that things still have a way to go before I can declare a sure victory. There's the possibility of blossom-end rot on the tomatoes, for instance, if the fruits lack calcium. That happened in my garden a few years ago. Therefore, I'm being careful to water the plants regularly.
There's also a danger of Early Blight. That's happened in my garden, too. The leaves turn dark from the base of the plant upward and have to be destroyed. Wet weather can invite Early Blight, but so far that hasn't happened this summer.

Of course the dastardly horn worm will surely make an appearance in August, as sure as my name's Jean. At the first sign that a of leaves, I'll be in the garden with a jar of water/ammonia to drop the horn worms into. Perhaps it's a cruel death, but killing my tomato plants seems even crueler, so there. I'll go over each plant with a magnifying glass, practically, to find any horn worms and pick them off. They're clever little (actually, big) buggers because their color matches exactly the color of the tomato leaf stem, so they're hard to spot.

There's also the danger of a sudden hailstorm with hail the size of golf balls, or a mini-tornado, or a deluge lasting five days straight, but I try not to think of those possibilities. They're out of my hands. There's also the possibility of deer visiting my garden in the night and having themselves a regular smorgasbord. I'm regularly mixing up my special deer repellent recipe and spraying the plants, and I've hung little sacks of Dial soap throughout the garden. I hope these efforts will send the deer in our woods elsewhere for a snack. Meanwhile, I remain cautiously optimistic.