Every year, sometime between transplanting and the craziness of harvest, I start to think that it is not going to work out, that nothing will grow into food, that everything has gone horribly wrong. Then I realize that there is a five gallon bucket full of potatoes on the kitchen floor, that we have been eating green beans for weeks, that the hammock is full of curing onions (good thing it is way too hot to swing in it myself), that those two cloth sacks full of garlic make for a LOT of garlic, that I can eat as many tomatoes as I want and there are still enough left over for canning, and that despite the appearance that it is knocking on death's door the cucumber are steadily growing, I realize that it worked out again this year. I have food!!! AND it is raining. I feel happy.