Field notes · Sep 8, 2026

In praise of dangerous mail

A fanned-out pile of colorful illustrated seed packets — Eleven dog-eared pages and counting.

The seed catalog arrived yesterday and I have already dog-eared eleven pages, which is eleven more plans than this garden has room for.

There’s a tomato called Midnight Roma and I need it. I don’t need it. I need it. This is how September goes: the garden is winding down and my imagination is already planting spring.

I made a rule: I can circle anything, but I can only order what replaces something that failed this year. The blight got the basil, so basil gets a second chance. Everything else has to audition.

Gardening is the only hobby where shopping feels like hope with a shipping fee. Dangerous mail, indeed.