We’re sixteen days into September, and every single one has been over 100°. Every. Single. One.
Fall gardening in Central Texas is basically a hostage situation. The plants are being held by the weather, I’m being held by the plants, and the sun is just out here doing whatever it wants.
So yes, welcome to oversummering season, where nothing is happening, everything looks stressed, and you spend your mornings begging your plants not to die.
What I’ve Planted (AKA: The Optimism Section)
I’ve got green beans, pintos, black‑eyed peas, and cucumbers in the pots. They’re growing… slowly… like they’re trying to decide whether life is worth living (hard same in this heat).
Meanwhile, the oversummering crew – peppers, tomatoes, zucchini/squash (I still can’t tell which is which, don’t judge me), herbs, and the rest – are all doing their best impression of Victorian children recovering from consumption.
They’re alive. Technically.
My Daily Oversummering Routine (A Comedy in Three Acts)
Act I: Morning Sun
Everyone gets their morning sun because apparently that’s the only time the sky isn’t actively trying to kill them. They perk up for about 45 minutes, and then the heat hits and they immediately regret their choices.
Act II: Shade Cloth Shenanigans
Around noon, I go outside and begin the daily ritual of:
- Draping shade cloth like I’m decorating for a very sad garden wedding
- Opening the umbrella for the herbs, peppers, and tomatoes
- Relocating pots like I’m playing horticultural Tetris
- Whispering encouraging things like, “You can do it, sweetie, just don’t die today”
Act III: Pest Patrol
I spend about an hour hunting bugs both in the morning and evening like a sleep‑deprived cryptid. Hornworms, aphids, leafhoppers – if it crawls, flies, or sucks sap, I’m removing it. Also, once I removed a good guy and I felt really bad about that.
My neighbors probably think I’m doing some kind of weird plant exorcism.
Oversummering: A Very Basic Explanation for Normal People
Oversummering is what Central Texas gardeners do when we want a fall garden but the weather refuses to cooperate. It’s basically keeping your plants alive long enough for them to actually grow once temperatures drop below “surface of the sun.”
The rules I’ve been following in my little container jungle are simple:
- Morning sun, with afternoon shade for the plants that need protection
- Afternoon shade (cloth, umbrellas, moving pots, bribery)
- Water when the soil needs it, not when you are emotionally dry
- Go easy on fertilizer when the plants are already stressed by extreme heat
- Expect slow growth
- Expect crispy bits
- Expect drama
Once the heat finally breaks – usually sometime in late September or early October, or whenever the weather gods stop trolling us – I’m hoping the plants wake up and act like they’ve been planning a comeback tour.
The Emotional Reality
Oversummering is boring. It’s repetitive. It’s hot. It’s thankless.
But it’s also the foundation for a ridiculously good fall garden. Once the temps drop, everything explodes with new growth and you get to pretend you’re a gardening genius instead of someone who spent three months shading plants with patio furniture.
What’s Coming Next
Once the heat finally chills out – and judging by the nighttime lows, I think we might be about a week away – I’ll be planting:
- Tomatillos (green and purple)
- Ground cherries (Aunt Molly’s and Orange)
- Eggplant
- More peppers
- More tomatoes
- And whatever else I decide to throw into the chaos
Plus, I’ll be building my curated Cattywampus Farm fall baskets – assuming my plants survive their current hostage situation. And then, you know, also if our market applications get approved…
Closing Thoughts
So yes, it’s boring right now. But boring is part of the process.
Fall gardening in Texas isn’t about instant gratification – it’s about surviving September so you can celebrate October. And honestly? I think my plants and I deserve a medal for making it this far.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put up shade cloth for the 900th time.