I always told my kiddos that there was a BIG difference between quiting and fixing a mistake.

Two days ago, I was ready to quit on my garden, thinking that it had been a mistake to imagine that I could grow enough food to keep us happy for a while. At least, that is how I intended to justify it to myself and them.

 A not so cute little bunny family had eaten all the bush bean blossoms and the runners of the sweet potatoes and the strawberries. The summer squash were history, succumbing to heat loving insects. The cantaloupe, pumpkins and watermelon were struggling in the oppressive temps and lack of rain. Grasshoppers everywhere. Curled up yellow and brown leaves abundant.

The weeds...happy and prospering.

 Then my mother showed up for a day of lounging in the pool.

 My New York City born and bred, private girls school raised mother. The one who thought shopping on 5th Avenue was simply Normal.

Who thinks that manicures are as important to life as fire and water.

As I was desperately trying to hand water the succotash with a portable pressure washer tank loaded in the bucket of the tractor, crying,

this mother of mine proclaimed, 'We are not giving up yet.'
Not so much with words, but with swiftness of motion.

She went over to the main garden and started pulling off the rotten tomatoes. And plucking pole beans while I attempted to save what I could with water trickling out of the 150 feet of hose I was dragging around kicking up dust as I went. She suggested rabbit for dinner. I thought at the time it was a joke...

We both got down and dirty pulling weeds, watering ourselves and the plants, climbing up to the barn loft to bring down straw to lay fresh mulch. Laughing and chatting all the while.

She insisted on pushing the wheel barrow, wrapping her jeweled hands around the worn wood handles. 

This morning I went out to the garden expecting to let out a big sigh at the sight of more dead stuff and throw a little pity party for myself.

But the ground was still moist where Ma had worked so hard.
 I spotted a slight bit of evidence of new growth on the cucumbers.

And I picked a handful of tomatoes without rot.

So I weeded, replanted, watered and mulched the rest of the plot until I couldn't take the heat any longer.

It seems that I, a middle aged woman, still have a lot to learn from my mother.