After last week’s hard freeze, I gave up on trying to maintain anything else in the garden. Now I’m just letting things go, waiting for the appropriate day to do some much-needed garden clean-up, and seeing if maybe the radishes and lettuce and arugula grow enough to actually eat them. So far, no good.
One plant that’s been rocking and rolling is one of our marigolds. It’s probably the one that was best placed, at least for getting sunlight and air and water—most of our other marigold plants were subsumed by zucchini leaves or cucumber vines.
Marigolds seem to be like the cilantro of the gardening world. I keep reading bloggers who hate them with a passion usually reserved for fascist dictators, but then I’ll read a post or two about someone who actually likes them. Me? I’m falling in the I-like-‘em camp, mostly because the yellows and red remind me of the Spanish flag, which reminds me of tapas and pollo asado. Also, they’re bright, even on the gloomiest Iowa days, and even after most everyone else’s summer flowers have faded away. Also, they don’t really smell like anything to me, so all those people who whine about how much they stink? I don’t believe you. Sorry.
The bees have been big fans of the marigolds since we put them in, too. I went out in the garden on Sunday afternoon to get some of the falling leaves out of the lettuce bed, and even though the forecast wasn’t calling for anything above 58 degrees for the day, there was a honeybee, dipping in and out of flowers, although at about a third of the speed of the summer bees. I’m not done yet, it seemed to be saying. I’m not letting go, no matter how hard it freezes.