I've come to realize that I go through cycles with the garden. In winter, I'm manic about looking at pictures, planning where to put plants, and desperate to see any signs of life. In spring, I'm a workhorse, and find any excuse to be outside doing something, anything. I do my best garden work then. In summer, it's too hot, humid and buggy. I'm too tired to do anything but glance out my window in disgust, or in longing of what could be. In fall, I put the garden to bed, looking forward to next spring, and wishing I hadn't wasted time in the summer being lazy.