Our first frost advisory came last night, causing me to cover a bed of newly transplanted strawberries and the huge geranium I haven't moved to safety yet. The strawberries need a couple weeks before I can let them freeze to death for the winter. Isn't that a thought--let them freeze to death for the winter. It suggests faith in their ability to rebound and grow fresh after shriveling up all brown and crispy for five months. The geranium has no such power, if I want to see it live another season, I need to provide it shelter, sunlight and water. My habit is to drag my feet on the fall gardening chores since I'm loath to say farewell to summer. Consequently, I wait until the last minute to drain, coil, and store the hoses and pull out the remains of tomato and squash plants.
I tell myself I have two weeks to finish sweeping out the garage and dumping the potted zinnias on the porch because higher temperatures are forecast through the weekend, so no rush, right?
Meanwhile, the squirrels are unusually busy this season and is it just me, or do their tails look bushier than normal? They must've read the Farmer's Almanac. Or maybe their squirrel sense is tingling.
The trees took their time turning colors, too. We're still not at peak! Furry caterpillars scoot across the trail, woodpeckers hammer into rotted tree trunks, and box elder bugs hug the sunniest spot on my front porch. We all know what lies in store for us, but I sense a collective reluctance.
Isn't it nice to sit still and admire this beautiful day? What's our rush?
I confess to resisting the siren call of fall. While my friends order pumpkin spice everything and set out their gourds while wearing wool sweaters that carry the aroma of cinnamon and cloves, I stubbornly wear my sandals until my toes turn blue with cold. But I will swap out my margarita for a porter and sit a while to gaze at the view. I'll inhale the earthy smell of fallen leaves and note how the sky takes on a uniquely vast brightness this time of year. I'll let myself be captivated by the glory of the maple tree turning red, orange, and golden.
Maybe tomorrow I'll bring that geranium inside. Today's a gorgeous day for a hike.
I loved different seasons best, depending on where I lived. In L.A. by the beach (my childhood), I loved summer, endless summer. In NY, the fall was lovely, but it was spring and its promises that sang to me. Here in Oxfordshire, not sure yet.
I love fall and it’s different here, but last night I admit I wished my heated mattress pad was on the bed!
I'm definitely one of your friends who has been eagerly anticipating autumn for months.
It's so hard to bid summer farewell. I prefer mine to longer we'll through October. We took the trailer out on Sunday night, just an hour from home, on what may be our final farewell; however, I'm still firmly in the "never say never" camp. I always want more time in this shoulder season.
-Karen
I'm the same way: dragging my feet on pulling the garden in, thinking I can squeeze out another week or two and resisting the siren call of fall. I'm always sad to see summer go.