After what seemed like endless heat and humidity, we finally got some relief. Monday and Tuesday, while still painfully dry, gave us lovely cool nights and days with a reasonable 70-degree temperature.

I think it might be time to talk about drought. I’m hauling hoses and watering the absolutely necessary areas. The vegetables and perennials are the most important, and the recently planted trees and shrubs. The larger, longer-established are, sadly, on their own. Hopefully their roots are deep enough to hang on until, hopefully, we get a good soaking rain. If not, it is extremely important to give a deep watering before winter sets in. It is an “abhorrence” for the ground to freeze dry according to old advice from The Gardener’s Bed Book.

I finally pulled all the onions. They are covering every horizontal surface in my kitchen and library. I started them all from seed in mid-January on propagating mats set at 55°. I’m ashamed to admit that some on the bed’s edges were the same size as when planted in April. I think I’ll replant them as “sets” next spring and see what happens.

Some of the early varieties actually did quite well. I need to use them before Christmas as they never last until spring. The good keepers like Patterson and Cortland should last until May. I do keep the varieties separate so I know which is which.

I also harvested all the potatoes. The crop is plentiful, although the individual spuds are much smaller than I would like. Again, I’m blaming it on insufficient water and, oh yeah, benign neglect!

There is an old-fashioned phlox. It’s a magenta color and taller than the newer varieties. I cannot remember planting it and it has been reliable for decades. Unlike it’s fancy newer cousins, it is unbothered by the unattractive white mold that shows up annually.

Meadows are sporting tons of Golden Rod right now. It is not the culprit causing seasonal allergies. That is the later blooming, also bright yellow, ragweed. Try to cut or pull it before it blooms if you are a fan of breathing properly.

I’m a slave to tradition. I do things because I always have. I asked my friend Sharlee why I save National Geographics. She replied, “Our parents did.”

This behavior brings me to the annual planting seeds of artichokes. I try every year, in vain, to get them to winter over and produce the following year. Space prevents me expanding all my different methods.

Again this year I planted the baby seedlings. Between life and lack of water I never checked on them. On Monday, a blue flower caught my eye. It was a flowering actual artichoke — all wizened and dead except the no-longer edible choke and its flower (a last ditch attempt to save itself). It sits in a vase now on the kitchen table, probably to encourage me to try again next year.

    I’m old enough to remember Soviet troops rolling into Hungary in 1956. They crushed a rebellion against the citizens. The people hated the Russian censorship, secret police and control over the teaching in schools. Sounds scarily familiar concerning our own present situation.

I was not alive in 1945 when Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin met in Yalta and basically divided up Europe, but I can read. Vladimir Putin, a former KGB officer, is a murderous dictator. His “approval” rating is high in Russia as people fear open windows and/or cups of tea.

The president of these United States rolling out a red carpet for such a man is something I never thought I would see in my lifetime.