This morning I realized we had our first morning glory flower of the season — only I didn’t make time to photograph it until a few minutes ago, when it was folding in upon itself, its brief day in the sun nearly complete.  Still, I was amazed and grateful to witness its appearance in my garden, especially because I did not plant it.

Exactly where I planted my heirloom “Grandpa Ott’s” morning glory seeds last year, a new crop have sprung up this year, healthy and ready to go.  I merely needed to do a little thinning and replace the rotting twine that guided them up to the porch railing.  This recent experience convinces me that my desired style of gardening may be closer to friendly self-seeding annuals in a cottage-garden style setting, lots of pretty things that pretty much take care of themselves given good soil, bright sun, and plenty of fresh rainwater.

Of course, no garden is so idyllic that it takes care of itself.  First of all, such a place would hardly qualify for the name “garden.”  And secondly, I’d be bored.  I need my garden to need me, when you come right down to it.  That is part of the pleasure.

Yet there is such simple grace in a plant throwing down its seeds because it likes the home you’ve provided, and in those seeds springing up of their own accord, raring to go for a new season of beauty and bounty.  I definitely would like my next garden, wherever it will be, to include more of that.

If only technology could participate in some of that simple grace!  Our DSL woes continue, as some of you may have guessed by my sparse participation online.  I haven’t even caught up on responding to comments and messages from the last time we went without a connection, and it’s happening again.  Turns out it’s not the internal wiring in the house — which only verifies my intuition that the problem is outside somewhere.  It kicks up every single time there is a major torrential rain.  This time, the connection went out just after our flash floods on Tuesday night.

It could, of course, be the long wire that is not even buried underground, but runs up the slope out of the hollow only slightly bedded down in the dirt and leaf mold.  If you were to shuffle your toe over it just right, you could conceivably trip over this wire on your way around the side of the house to the Victory Garden.  When F. first located it when picking wild blackberries, we were both astonished and amazed.  A loose wire, just snaking through the forest.

Thus, you can probably imagine the skeptical expression on my face when the last repair technician assured me it was the internal wiring in the house causing the problem.  Maybe because a rodent had chewed a wire in the crawl space, he said.  All I could envision as he spoke was the legion of chipmunks with access to that long green wire stretched out beneath the tree canopy and the bright blue sky.  I wasn’t convinced I knew enough to argue with him, however, so I just let him go ahead and do his thing.  Naturally, I’m ruing that decision now, less than two weeks later.

The main thing I want to say, however, is that if I’ve been absent from your blog, please know that I am still trying to catch up, and hopefully you will see me there soon.  In spite of all that free time to clean the house and weed the garden, I do miss my blog friends, and I hope we have steady, reliable internet service soon.

Cross your fingers for us; won’t you?

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