Oh, dear, these clear September days are so beautiful - why can't I enjoy them? The signs of autumn are as special as those of spring, but they bring such a different message. In spring, the first robin, peepers singing in the marsh at dusk, the red buds of the maple puffing up, all send signals that the lazy hazy days of summer will soon be here, but in autumn, the cheerful chirp of the cricket and the first golden leaf silently spiraling down from the maple mean those long delicious days are drawing to a close.
In May I get spring fever, in September I get autumn melancholia. The summer is never long enough, and this summer was so drenched in rain it was hardly a summer at all. It looks like Mother Nature might not start the fall extravaganza right away, however. She's hardly painted a single leaf with color, just let them revel in their greenery.
But the other harbingers of autumn surround me, filling all my senses. It is not only the sight of the asters opening their fringed blue eyes, the flocks of sparrow who gather in the locusts to discuss the best southern route or the sudden appearance of the great blue heron, gliding silently across the pond in search of one last easy meal. It's the feel of the air. The earth is losing its heat. The sun has begun its autumn journey toward the south, its warmth diminishing a little more each day.
My ears and nose are also attuned to the signs of autumn. The valley echoes, not with the springtime clank of the disk harrow, but the faint buzz of the corn chopper. The raucous call of the first returning blue jay brings to mind the winter to come, the snow and the birdfeeders. So does the cidery fragrance of fallen apples. I yearn for a reprieve, a few more months before I face the summer's end.
The race against time is actually quite marvelous to behold. Yesterday I did a bit of weeding, and was amazed by the determination of weeds to set seed at this time of year. The normally harmless pusley stops its leisurely sprawl of red stems and zeroes in on making tiny yellow blooms which quickly convert to ripening seeds. Lambs quarters, which if not pulled early in the summer, turn into four and five-foot monsters, are totally unrelated to the lambs quarters that sprout in August. Some of these miniatures are no taller than a clothespin, but are already bursting with ripe seeds.
Seeing these tiny but potentially harmful seed bearers put a little oomph into my weeding, and I actually forgot how fast the summer was fading. There are a great many garden chores to be done this month. When Jack Frost returns from his summer vacation, don't forget to put sheets or buckets over your tomatoes and lettuce and other tender vegetables. Jack often swoops down on the garden just once and doesn't return for several weeks, so it's worth protecting your plants.
If you have vines full of cherry tomatoes or Sweet 100's you can uproot the plants (surprisingly easy to do) and hang them upside down in the garage, the lazy gardener's way of getting ripe tomatoes for two or three more weeks. Mulch the carrot row and you'll be able to continue harvesting until the snow flies. No need to protect the Brussels sprouts as they couldn't care less about frost.
And don't forget the flowers. Pick that last bouquet for the house; pot up some impatients and bring it into the house so it can continue to bloom all winter. Sad to say that doesn't work with many other annuals. I've tried it with marigolds and snapdragons, but they just sit around sulking and refuse to produce more blooms.
Soon it will be time to dig up the gladiolas and dahlias and store in a cool place for the winter. Having gone to Italy for most of May, I didn't find last year's bag of gladiola corms in the cold cellar until late June. I planted them all, but only one has had enough time to bloom.
As I finished weeding, one of those small black crickets hopped across my hand, chirping cheerfully as he ducked under a yellowed leaf. No melancholia in that little fellow. I guess I should take a tip from him and stop grieving for the end of summer.
