If you're a gardener, perhaps you know the feeling of utter desperation brought on by the waiting of success. It starts when you look around and realize there's no more space for vegetables. Sure you can weed in the Summer heat, but the anticipation of planning, the excitement of trying new edibles, it's all long gone. L. O. N. G. G. O. N. E.

It is the dramatic pause--the deep breath of the lead singer--before the chorus begins.

Except mine seems to be doom metal or something equally dark and sinister (maybe not metal , but perhaps something worse, oh. . . say, something by someone whose name rhymes with Harris Guilton). Just so wrong, so malnourished, so spindly and problematic you want to send it to therapy.

But what sort of therapy would really be productive at this point?

I'm pretty good at preaching the law of leave it alone and don't worry so much. But dammit those squash vine borers ripped through my zucchini faster than my typing fingers could research a solution on the world wide web.

The guy at the more expensive than necessary farm supply store up the road said he just got new zucchini plants in, because this is the week everybody rips theirs out and puts new ones in. Crappity crappity. So not only have I just compared my vegetable garden to the tabloid love child of '06, but I also learned it's functioning on normalcy. It's not as magical as I like to pretend.

From Mother Earth's womb I untimely ripped the vines and roots, pulled the vines apart, searching for the villainous borers, only to find the tunnels empty. I guess that means they've already turned to moths and that next year I need to remember my little lesson on crop rotation to avoid recreating this little horror sequence.

So therein lies a question: Do I replant? Do I leave it alone? Do I go out and buy more plants to feel better and remind myself of the exciting potential of gardening? I'll let you guess. . .