Previously I had used a shovel as a broad-fork to open up the soil to at least a shovel's depth. Today I worked the mini-tiller over the bed, tilling in a fair amount of previously mowed leaves. I have yet to rake things level and tidy up—due to insufficient time. Once smoothed out, it will be ready for frost and snow, freeze and thaw, to finish the preparation. And then, come spring, just the tiniest incisions where seeds need to go.

I'm thinking I may have outwitted (or at least out-waited) the galinsoga, so next summer it's all about beets—some squash and some tomato, yes, but heavy on the beets. This year, for the first year in memory, we have no picked beets, and our menus are much poorer as a result.

Last evening, quite after dark, our odd, across-the-street neighbor (who some think is a vampire) came out with his lawnmower to attack the the thick layer of leaves dropped in his yard by a big, old silver maple. He mowed and he mowed, and this morning I found most of the residue out in the middle of our street. Not to worry, it is no longer there.