A journalist observes life in the far north.
It was a fluke because subsequent sunflower growing failed. That is, until this year.
Months ago, a friend gave me some Burpee seeds. I germinated them and nurtured them, keeping the tiny plants indoors until well into June. I gave most of them away. Of the handful I kept, two are alive. One is glorious.
At about five feet tall, the sunflower stands erect with a bright red bloom and at least six more flowers in various pre-bloom stages.
The glorious sunflower was very nearly eaten by snowshoe hares. It grew despite its tattered, chewed-up leaves.
I’m proud of that sunflower. Hell, I very well may enter it at the fair.
The winds tonight are strong, and coupled with the wildfire smoke, which rolls in every few hours for days now, there’s a feeling of apocalypse in the air.
It rains for five or ten minutes every few hours and it’s a surprise because the wildfire smoke is blocking the clouds. There’s no warning. Rains just starts dropping.
It’s cool too, or at least cooler than its been lately. I’m wearing a sweatshirt.
More than any other plant in the garden, I am worried about the sunflower. More than the cabbage, the potatoes or the pepper plant. (I’ve given up on the strawberries but that’s another story.)
I went out to water the garden and saw the roughly 20 mph winds knocking the sunflower around. So I disturbed Alec, who was dozing on the floor. He pounded a big stick into the dirt and tied it to the sunflower.
I think it will be OK.