Basil silliness

I thought the Indian summer would last longer. Planned a picnic in the park, a lazy affair of finger food, a blanket, books and sky gazing through yellow leaves. I woke this morning to wind and fast moving clouds with sun peeking in and out and electric blue patches of sky teasing me into thinking the storm might blow over. It did not. The wind stopped, the rains came. Time to put on the prognosticator’s hat.

This is a gambling time of year here in the northwest. The rain will help bring a new flush of leaves on the basil, especially if some sun follows. So the odds makers get to work. I visit no fewer than three weather predictions, choosing the one I like the most. Clouds will keep the night temperatures above freezing. But when the needed sun arrives the danger of frost looms. What is the pesto addict to do? Every year the same balancing act plays out. I want to get another batch of pesto. The basil is still producing, though flower heads have begun to appear since the last harvest. To cut or not to cut? The gardening faerie on my shoulder starts to whisper.

In previous years reemay protected the basil from the early light frosts.

A little protection can eke out an extra two or three weeks.

With temperatures last week edging toward 90, a warm weather crop like basil might be expected to keep growing a while longer.

It’s the same annual song every fall. When it comes to my basil (i.e. pesto) I have brought rationalizing to an art form over the last several years. It seems I cannot give up on it until the heavy frosts come or the leaves become small and slightly bitter. So the basil stays. I’m sure I knew what my decision would be from the outset. But why spoil the fun of second guessing the weather? A small personal joke, a ritual enacted with reliability each year and never failing to make me smile at my foolishness.