Weather plants doubts about gardening

I may have to return my gardener’s card as my garden is a dismal failure this year. Between the rain, floods and rabbits, the garden is mostly toast. Actually it isn’t toast, it is mostly lemon balm. That seems to be the only thing that is thriving.
I have caught a rabbit inside the fence I put up to surround the eggplant. It sat there and smirked when I told it to leave. A friend saw another one inside the fence I placed around the peppers. What is left of the plants looks pathetic. I have resigned myself to the fact that any fresh peppers or eggplants I get this year will come from the farmers’ market.
I do have tiny green marbles on the tomato plants. All the rain has caused the plants to put their energy into growing tall instead of producing fruit. Now that we have a bit of a break, they have reluctantly decided to make tomatoes.
I picked the first cucumber the other day. I had to scrub the flood residue off of it before I could peel and serve it. I didn’t see any other little ones on the vines.
I thought the garden would survive the rains because we built raised beds. The problem was that we only raised them a few inches. At least twice this year the water around the garden could have been measured in feet. Maybe next year I should make new raised beds several feet off the ground.
Next year. That seems to be the mantra of gardeners and farmers. Next year things will be better. Next year the rains will come on time and be exactly right. Next year we will have a bumper crop. Just wait until next year.
I grew up hearing the promise that next year will be better. Sometimes it was true, but sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes next year proved to be far worse than could be imagined. Only rarely was next year better.
But next year always came, bringing with it the promise of hope. Life happened while we waited for things to get better next year. Crops grew and so did we. The sun shined and seasons changed. There were moments of great joy that outshone the bad things that happened.
It is those moments that are important. The smell of fresh-cut hay is still the sweetest smell on earth. The first hand-picked tomato still tastes the best. If the garden has been damaged by rain, floods or critters, anything gleaned from it is that much more delicious. A bit of hardship makes us appreciate good fortune all the more.
I try to remember this as I pull weeds from between what is left of the vegetables I planted. The marigolds that were supposed to deter bugs, rabbits and squirrels huddle in shame at having failed. Lemon balm pops up in the empty spaces and crowds out any remaining vegetables. Hoards of mosquitoes feast on any exposed skin.
Even though I bemoan the lack of fresh produce, I am grateful for floods instead of drought. Floods cause a lot of damage but we don’t have to worry about wildfires.
I am already planning what changes need to be made to ensure that next year is more productive than this summer has been. I wonder how high a raised bed needs to be to keep the rabbits out. Then again, if flooding is going to be a frequent problem, maybe I should plant rice instead of beans. Giving up on the garden isn’t an option. I just have to figure out a way to get around the problems that are sure to arise. Maybe I won’t have to relinquish my gardener’s card after all.