I shouldered a bag full of the last several pounds of green tomatoes and peppers, and spun the combination lock one more time as I exited the garden and headed home in the golden light of this October afternoon. Three hours after I had arrived, the fence line was clean, the beds clear, the compost bins full, next summer's shallots and garlic seeded, cover crops planted, and all the cages and stakes and buckets stacked neatly by the rickety plastic potting bench.
They were chores I had put off, weekend after weekend, but as I turned my gaze one last time to that crazy, awful, problematic garden plot, I definitely felt a twinge of anticipation.
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