Sitting on the porch for breakfast, we feel the cool morning air. I have a sweater on and I know Ed's a little chilled, even though he would never say so.
What he does say is -- I'm going to miss those flowers in the winter time.
So this is it, that period in time that can't even be imagined in the cold season. Summer, a lush and plentiful summer where there was enough rain and enough sunshine to make our gardens grow.
And it seems so much part of our world now, even though in three months, it will all be gone. All of it. Pffft! Gone.
I spend the morning deadheading. Snipping off spent blooms to encourage one more run. It's a beautiful time to work outside: the air is a cool 70 degrees, the wind refreshes and blows mosquitoes away to some distant hiding place. Can it be more perfect?
In the early afternoon, our truck framer who grows potatoes, onions and garlic in the back of the farmette, asks us to mow down her weeds for another planting run. Ed works his John Deere in exchange for a bucket of potatoes and a bagful of garlic.
And then he and I have a date! A movie and a dinner -- both frivolous and a bit of a joke, because the movie is a fun but silly little thing about restauranteurs squabbling in the south of France (a poke at the Ed who refuses to go back to my beloved Sorede exactly in that region) and the "dinner out" isn't really out at all, or at least it isn't one where we sit down across from each other at a table elsewhere; it's one where we pick up take out food at our favorite Thai place and bring it home.
Home. Where the flowers grow and the world is kind and calm and he cheepers look at me with hopeful eyes every time I pass them in the garden.
What he does say is -- I'm going to miss those flowers in the winter time.
So this is it, that period in time that can't even be imagined in the cold season. Summer, a lush and plentiful summer where there was enough rain and enough sunshine to make our gardens grow.
And it seems so much part of our world now, even though in three months, it will all be gone. All of it. Pffft! Gone.
I spend the morning deadheading. Snipping off spent blooms to encourage one more run. It's a beautiful time to work outside: the air is a cool 70 degrees, the wind refreshes and blows mosquitoes away to some distant hiding place. Can it be more perfect?
In the early afternoon, our truck framer who grows potatoes, onions and garlic in the back of the farmette, asks us to mow down her weeds for another planting run. Ed works his John Deere in exchange for a bucket of potatoes and a bagful of garlic.
And then he and I have a date! A movie and a dinner -- both frivolous and a bit of a joke, because the movie is a fun but silly little thing about restauranteurs squabbling in the south of France (a poke at the Ed who refuses to go back to my beloved Sorede exactly in that region) and the "dinner out" isn't really out at all, or at least it isn't one where we sit down across from each other at a table elsewhere; it's one where we pick up take out food at our favorite Thai place and bring it home.
Home. Where the flowers grow and the world is kind and calm and he cheepers look at me with hopeful eyes every time I pass them in the garden.
Your flowerscapes get better and better! I love seasons and your farmette times are such a celebration of the seasons. Jean
ReplyDeleteThat they are. For better or for worse, I cannot imagine anymore living in a place where the seasons weren't in my face, full force, in all their terror and their glory.
DeleteI like sweater weather in summer. Looks like we are in for several good patio nights in a row. Except that mosquitoes seek me out. Everyone thinks they're not so bad....that's because they're all on Joy!
ReplyDeleteMost of my day lilies are finished already. Coneflowers and agastache are left to support the bee population, Nepeta has been sheared and is trying for a weak second showing, Little Joe and Chocolate Joe Pye will hang out til frost, as will our few annuals, Gerber daisies and nasturtium. Just yesterday I wondered to my husband why it's never sad to put the garden to bed. You'd think I'd be the Dejected Gardener by that point. But I know what it is, aside from the trees taking over the show - it's the change of light! That golden, angled light of fall that makes us, why? so happy. Like Jayview, I love the change of seasons.
I had to look up Chocolate Joe Pye!
DeleteI do agree with you: it's the light: it gets better and better until the end of October and then comes the tough part, until February, when the light is absolutely beautiful again.
I could plant more toward the late summer, but I dont do that. Aside from a few strategic aster bushes and anemonies, I let the annuals (mainly coreopsis and nasturtium) take over. A fading garden is as beautiful to me as a fading beauty (forgive the unfortunate connotations here): an older face with a gentle wisdom -- stunning. In yesterday's rather innocuous (but for me, visually and thematically delightful!) movie, I loved the camera switch back and forth between the two romantic themes -- between the older couple and the younger one. In the end, we concluded that the older one was more satisfying. And beautiful.