Gardens

A Preview of Fall

August 27, 2017 – The morning is cool and clear. The air is light–unusual for August in the midwest. The crickets are still singing even though the suns’s light is creeping over the trees in the east. Before long, cricket song is slowly drowned out by cardinals “chipping” and squirrels scolding as the morning brightens and warms.

Athena, our visiting cat, pads softly across the back deck, heading out to the birdbaths for a quick drink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Inside, Duncan monitors her movements closely. 

Athena and Duncan don’t get along, but I hope they will work out their differences eventually. But for now, there is much muttering and hissing as the “conversation” moves from window to window.

The sun is up beyond the trees now, and the bright light reveals a late summer garden, somewhat rejuvenated by the recent cool weather. The usual August heat is a harsh reality for the flowers and vegetables. Everything wilts by midday, and there is no energy left for growth… only survival. The bugs seize the opportunity to really wage an all out attack on the vulnerable leaves and petals. Squash borers weaken stems and stalks, and the yellow and black spotted cucumber beetles chew away at the beautiful green leaves. Even the tough prairie plants, with their deep, deep roots, look pale and tired. At this point, it seems like it’s time to wrap up the gardening for another year.

But, the resilience of Nature is not to be underestimated. On this morning’s garden walk, I notice a renewed vibrance in the greenery and a freshness to the flowers. Next to a dried, chewed stalk, a new green tomato hangs quietly, and young green leaves and small yellow flowers hold the promise of more to come. The fallen seeds of bolted  cilantro have sprouted and reach for the sun.

The zinnias look refreshed and ready to face the rest of the summer. Just a small preview of fall is a real boost to the heart and soul of the garden, not to mention the gardener. 🌱

Stream of Consciousness

The Power of Transitions

I don’t consider myself a “morning person.” The transition from sleeping to wakefulness has always been wrenchingly difficult. But, most days, I drag myself from bed before dawn anyway because the quiet restorative power of the Earth’s early morning transition is too precious to miss.

Coffee helps. Stumbling to the kitchen, being careful not to trip over Samson (who, like all cats, must lead the way, a bare half-step in front), I start the pot brewing. The grumbly sounds of the water on its journey through the mechanism are comforting–never fear…hot caffeine is on the way. While this is in process, I get fresh food and half-and-half for Samson; I’m sure the sounds of the dishes clinking and the refrigerator door opening are comforting to him, as well. Soon, the big blue mug is full of coffee and I can move to the sunroom to greet the morning.

IMG_2150

One of the best features of our house is this sunroom. Extending off the back of the house, it has windows on all three walls and essentially puts you out in the backyard without actually having to get dressed and venture out. And this early in the morning, in the still-dark time with the windows open, the line between in and out is hardly noticeable.

The dark morning is full of expectation and possibility. As I set my coffee mug in a safe spot and sit myself comfortable on the sunroom floor, I look south. Even through the windows, the bright stars of Orion and Canis Major are easily seen, marching onward ahead of the sun. In the sometimes uncertain darkness, these starry friends are a great comfort. The world is dark, quiet, and sparkling.

canis-major-orion

The birds know the morning is coming even before a soft glow in the east signals its arrival to me. Off in the distance, a soft, tentative chittering begins. Soon, others more confidently join in. A slight whiff of a breeze rustles through the leaves still clinging to the October branches. In the low brush, a small animal scurries by on a mission. The changeover from deep quiet to bustling activity is under way.

It’s tempting to resent the coming of day, the intrusion of light into the stillness of the predawn. After all, I’ve just gotten comfortable–here on the floor with coffee and cat–and part of me want this timeless darkness to go on and on. As the light increases in the backyard, details of the trees and gardens emerge. Colors and textures appear. Birds swoop by the windows, calling out to each other. Suddenly, the prospect of a new day seems not daunting, but energizing. Transitions are not always easy and not always comfortable. But as we move through them, we gain a kind of strength… a power. As I stand up, careful not to disturb Samson (he’s not quite so energized yet), I feel ready and able to face the day. One more cup of coffee, though… just to be sure.

img_4035