Writing while gardening

How a neglected garden reminds me of how I sometimes forget the important part of how I should write.

Today I got frustrated, stood up from the desk and went out to the garden to tie the tomatoes (some now 7 feet high) and do a little weeding. A little. Ha. I was out until dark. Six hours.

I was shocked at how neglected my garden had become, how as fall approaches, as the growing season draws to a close, I assume the garden does not warrant much attention and focus on other things.

Why?

Why do I do this? Is it just that I lose interest? That I like starting more than maintaining, than finishing? In so doing, though, I seem to lose the rhythm, the thread, the realization that it takes work every day, not in frenzies of sweat.

Weeds finally vanquished, I pulled the onions and garlic and set them on drying racks. I cut chard to steam and freeze. I yanked the withering winter squash — how did the borers get in there? When did the borers get in there? And whoa! That zucchini is huge; how did I not see that?

And what happened to the raspberries? Overnight? Oh, gee, was it over the past week? (Greedy turkeys.)

I filled a five-gallon bucket with tomatoes for boiling down into sauce to freeze…