This summer has been so dangerously hot that the only time I ventured out to the garden was to harvest stuff. The grasses between raised beds grew about a foot and a half before the early morning temps were low enough for me to mow them down. Yet, it was still joyful, knowing that the garden was there, and producing food. Every time I walked out and plucked, snipped, or dug, it was like thanksgiving. I had put in so little effort, but had been blessed with so much. Not an abundance, but enough.
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