It’s finally raining. Cold drizzles after a week of
summer-like weather that saw shorts, capris, sun dresses and sandals back in
vogue after being put away for warmer togs. Patios were back in business and
people-watching was the thing to do again. My family piled their plates high
and ate Thanksgiving dinner on our patio and sat out, having fun, late into the
night with the help of citronella candles, to annoy the bugs, retrieved from storage.
The patio chair cushions have now been put away along with
the garden art. The last of the habanero peppers have been picked. The bushes
have been trimmed, vines pulled down from the walls and fences, the annuals
have been pulled and will become compost. The urns in the front of the house
are now sporting yellow mums. Spring bulbs have been planted, perennials
divided and replanted in different areas and the grass, fertilized and reseeded.
The
birdbath remains through all seasons and the pond spitter will be unplugged
when the cold weather settles in.
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Yellow-tinged Hosta |
Yet, I gaze out at my garden and see the beauty of this
wondrous season, autumn. I see the black soil where a few weeks ago plants were
blooming. I see the fence, cleared of this year’s trumpet vine and now ready
for regrowth in the spring. I look at the bare walls were ivy and more vines grew; where tiny birds roosted at night. I look at the plants that come
into their glory at this time of year: the fall asters, the absolutely gorgeous,
will soon be living-up-to-its-name, burning bush, the scraggly mum that is
being crowded out of its space but continues to sprawl across the grass in its
pink glory, yellow tinged hostas and surprisingly, a brave Shasta daisy, all
alone on its bush.
This is my favourite season. I love the change of pace, the
cooler temperatures, the bittersweet feel of the garden. Yes, leaves are
starting to fall, foliage is dying back but underneath the soil, there’s work
in progress for that promise of renewal that never disappoints; the promise of
spring.
Will keep you posted.
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