The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

I love summer. Always have. Always will.

And here in Minnesota, it doesn't last long. So summer-lovers like me have to squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of the four months or so we have to enjoy the sun.

Which is why I love my vegetable garden.

It's a fairly new hobby for me. I took it up four years ago, when we moved to The Country from Suburbia. It's proven to be a delight -- both to my soul and to my stomach. There's nothing quite as peaceful as spending a few hours on a sunny Saturday afternoon walking my plot of dirt and watching God unleash His creativity. "Really?!? That's how you grow a broccoli, Lord? That's crazy!"

It's also easy to love a hobby that makes you look good. And thanks to this garden, my thumb has appeared very green the last few years. Every plant I have planted, every seed I have watered has come up green and lush and laden with produce. That has everything to do with our soil. I mean -- look at it! It's jet-black and so rich in nutrients I could grow a car by planting a spark plug.

Now I just need to get my baby tomato, pepper, pumpkin, zucchini, squash, bean, peas and basil plants in the ground.

If only the rain would stop.
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I love summer. Always have. Always will.

But in The Country, where I live, summer comes with an creepy-crawly side dish of bugs. Lots o' bugs. Thousands of bugs. Bugs, bugs, bugs. Bugs like I thought only existed in horror movies.

On a recent night, I accidentally left our front porch lights on after the babysitter left. I returned two hours later, after putting the kids to bed, to find a swirling vortex of nastiness outside my front door.

If this picture doesn't make your scalp crawl, I don't know what will. (Don't make me post the video clip!)

Reminds me of the night our first summer here. My husband and I were driving home from The Cities, about 90 miles away, when we suddenly ran into a rain shower.

"Pop, pop, pop, pop," went the front window.

Puzzled, we both leaned over to see a full moon gleaming down at us, not hidden at all by clouds.

And then, it occured to us both at the same second. "Honey, those aren't raindrops. Those are bug brains."

And yes they were. So many of them hitting our windshield at once, it sounded like a downpour.

Please, Lord, hasten the arrival of fall. Or at least an early summer killing frost. I can replant my garden. But I can't stand these bugs!