I am a poor sport in the heat of the summer. I never understood the song Summertime and the Living Is Easy. It seems so hard to me, it’s too darn hot, there are flies, fleas and mosquitoes, and it never rains enough to keep me happy. As I said last week, all I do is drag hoses around.

Again, I would never move south. A couple of my young women workers spent last winter traveling around Southeast Asia and India. They have been describing the heat there during our lunch breaks. It does give me some gratitude for living here.

I use a gasoline generator to pump water for my vegetables. There is no available electricity. The other midday, when it was hotter than H-E-double hockey sticks, I was pouring gas into it when some spilled on the ground and immediately fried the grass. I was overwhelmed thinking about the oil washing up on our Gulf coast beaches. I cannot ever muster political anger, it’s just so sad.

A family of skunks took up residence under the porch of a friend. Mom was run over in the street but one baby survived to emerge. My friend, who shall remain nameless, has been raising the little orphan. At first he used an eyedropper to feed milk but added cottage cheese. The little guy has more than doubled in size but still rides around in his foster parent’s pocket. We’re talking seriously cute, here. Startling him wouldn’t be a wise idea.

I am actually fond of skunks. They eat rodents and grubs. I know they wreak havoc on lawns but I still think they serve a purpose, unlike the loathsome raccoon. He kills poultry for sport and I detest him.

I have noticed a bit of purple loose-strife popping up here and there. It is so pretty but you must be strong and destroy it. It will take over and choke out the natives. Burning is a good method. I made a mistake, years ago, and planted its cousin, gooseneck loosestrife, and have been pulling it out ever since. Why are the undesirables so robust?

There was a segment on National Public Radio about the building of the Rebecca at the Gannon and Benjamin Shipyard. The speaker was talking up the beauty and maintenance of a wooden boat and comparing it to the raising of children and tending a garden. It’s all about the process. Tending a garden is certainly a lifelong endeavor. Writing about it for a period of time is becoming questionable. While I have developed a relationship with this column, there are times it becomes an unrelenting taskmaster. Right now, for example, I have too much to do other than blah blah blah. Never one to disappoint myself, I will muddle through.

I have been ambivalent for some time concerning our nation’s immigration policies. When I was a young girl, I wanted to work in migrant worker camps because I took pity on those folks in deplorable working conditions. In fact, I majored in sociology in college, thinking I could be a social worker in such a situation. Now, with the brouhaha over the new law in Arizona, I have been trying to sort out my feelings on the subject.

I know it must be crazy living in a border town with all the drug and gun violence. Let’s not forget that the U.S. is supplying those arms to Mexico. That is an entirely other subject! Where is she going with this, you ask?

I am in the gardening and landscaping business here on the Vineyard and have the opportunity to work on sites with foreign workers. People criticize and say they take jobs from Americans, but I see them working hard to support their families. It has been brought to my attention that there are unscrupulous business people here that hire illegals, refuse to pay them, and threaten to call immigration if they try to quit. They are paid enough to eat but are owed thousands and cannot return to their country if they wanted to do so. I know this sounds like a crazy rumor but I have heard it from too many reliables to ignore. I have to quote Matt Castro’s Portuguese grandmother: “God doesn’t sleep!”