Everything that Dies, Some Day Comes Back

October and it's all done. This picture of my phlox David (white) and Veronica (lavender) is old, stored for a future post back in August. Outside this morning, the remnants of phlox petals are gently drifting away.

The 2009 garden might have been one of my best. The dependable rainstorms throughout the season meant I rarely watered (I think once or twice this whole summer). In fact, the biomass that I've raked and weeded out of the garden this summer is probably a record. The deer that came through must have encountered the deer resistant plants that I'd put in, and decided to graze elsewhere. His damage was minimized by a flush of growth. The family of wrens that took up residence in my birdhouse hopefully made it to adulthood. The goldfinches have moulted. Their gorgeous yellow feathers have turned an autumn brown. The banana tree in the pot on the deck is probably confused by the cool evening temperatures. (What am I going to do with it?) The apple tree never produced but at least it's not growing sideways anymore. The peach tree survived the gypsy moth infestation. The Fourth of July tomatoes delivered all through August. The herbs and peppers are still holding fast. And the eggplant plant gave me two or three lovely Aubergine.

Now comes the process of closing it all out before the first freeze in mid-November. The fall chores sometimes come with a self-imposed anxiety to rake and clean and put away. The crush of fall social obligations, sports games and school activities. The temptation to work late in the evenings and go in on weekends to meet the press deadline for goSmithsonian. All of this conflicts with garden work and chores. I have to remember that no one cares if the plants turn brown and fall over, and the leaves gather on the lawn. It's the way it is supposed to be and I need to move slowly, deliberately, one step, one season, at a time. The Putterer

Fall Days Make for a Perfect Pepper

The temperature fell last night. It's fall officially. J will work late tonight to close out the fiscal year. My mother's birthday follows, and then mine and J's the week after. Leaves are spotting the ground, which is damp, and the grass is thinning. Two pumpkins are on the porch and as is the custom at my house, their fall orange flare will clash with the pots that hold the springtime purple and pink blooms that I can't bear to pitch.

On Sunday, with minutes to spare before a darkening sky brought another deluge, I raced to mow the lawn. The clumps of wet grass are still out on the sidewalk. I can't possibly find enough time to clean everything up before an autumn gust blows in more detritus.

It's the way of fall. I mourn the passing of summer, but I love the coming of cool days. My jeans fit loosely after a summer of exercise and my arms long for the warmth of a soft sweatshirt. Everything is in order with the girls back in their school routine. Early morning coffee, fast departure, dog is walked, house locked up for the day. No deviations, no late night teen parties. Chaos over.

In the garden, the parsley is plentiful, the peppers are turning a deep red and a burnt yellow, a thin growth of arugula is coming in from the seed that I threw down about ten days ago. There's a sweet bush of lavender that anchors one corner of the farmer box balanced by the thick bunch of chives at the other corner.

I've stored up some grass to salt the next pile of leafy compost. And the compost from last fall is wormy, warm and black.

It's time to stop blogging and blast off to work. That is the routine of fall. The Putterer

A Sunday Putter

Yesterday, Sunday, I went out to garden. The vegetable box was completely overgrown. I pulled out the kale (we ate it for dinner), the old lettuce, the cilantro and all the nasturtium. Then I replanted lettuce seed for the coming weeks. The tomatoes are clinging sturdily to the vine, but haven't ripened. I have one eggplant that I'll need to pick shortly. I clipped back all the daylilies; pulled out their dried stems to make everything look neater. Then I climbed around behind the crab apple tree and entered into the fearful zone of overgrown vines, tilting apple tree, listing Joe Pye Weed and intrusive poke weed. I whacked it all back, using my weed whacker, I gave the whole hillside a clean shave. I pulled the apple tree up and tied it tall, anchoring it to the crab apple tree. Poor old Joe Pye (my cousin) had been completely overtaken by this nasty vine. I don't know what it's called, but it grows like a blanket over things and it has these seed pods. It's bad, bad, bad, my neighbor A, told me last year. Meanwhile, next door, my neighbor C, has a forest of pokeweed about to go to seed. The birds will come and distribute the seeds everywhere, bringing on disaster for anyone not wanting the stuff to grow. Nothing can be done about it, though.

The sweat poured off of me as I worked. I kept a towel near by and wiped frequently. It felt so good. T stopped by and said, "There really is a garden back here." That was surprising. She hates gardening. Meanwhile, out front, the gold finch feeder is attracting a huge clientele.

I have to get up now and go get ready for my day job. The Putterer