The mosquitoes are out ofcontrol this summer, and our garden operations coordinator (that’s right) sent an emergency email begging us all to tackle the tall weeds that these buggers evidently love to hang out in, swapping stories about which of us has the juiciest, most delectable blood.
So I ventured out in spite of the gloomy forecast – when does it ever really rain anyway? – and got to it. Of course about a half hour in, the heavens opened up. I played cat and mouse with the rain as it let up and then increased again because I was really in a good groove.
Here’s the view from under the fig tree, which kept me perfectly dry, where I hid when the showers got serious, until I heard thunder and threw in the trowel.
My timing was almost perfect but not quite: the rain became a downpour and then a thunderstorm as I walked home with only my sun hat – poor straw sun hat – to cover me.