Sequestered, 354 (CCCLIV)

And so it goes...

On a chilly morning this week, Beau and I spent a few hours doing autumn chores in the garden. On the day in question, I needed a woolly hat and warm gloves, and the collar of my tatty (but delightfully warm) old jacket was turned up against the north wind. Beau was decked out in his natty blue tartan coat with its fleecy lining and glad to be wearing it.

There is always so much to be done at this time of the year, removing annuals that have succumbed to the season, pruning shrubberies back and covering roses for the winter, pulling out veggies past fruiting and turning over the good dark earth for the next go around. This was not a good year for tomatoes by any means, but there are trays of green toms ripening on the old oak table in the dining room. 

When I looked up from my labours, I noticed that one maple in the garden has already lost its leaves, and blue sky is now visible in places where it was concealed by the tree canopy just last week. Crab spiders no longer lurked among the roses, and the fall asters that hosted throngs of bees, bumbles, and wasps a few days ago have gone to seed. Not a single little sister was dancing about in the faded purple and gathering nectar. 

Kales and culinary herbs in the veggie patch are hanging in for the time being, but no doubt about it, another growing season is fast coming to an end. Planting garlic (the Music and Nootka Rose varieties) and more crocus bulbs in the next few days will assuage our melancholy a bit, but we (Beau and I) are already missing the garden that kept us hopping happily about all summer.

Late autumn is my favorite time of the year, but the passing of summer's companions always tugs at my heartstrings, and I particularly miss the bumble girls when they have passed away, and their dear, fuzzy little bodies have returned to the earth. Yesterday I thanked them for their company and wished their new queens well in hibernation.

As I pulled out withered tomato vines later in the afternoon and consigned them to the compost bin, it was difficult not to feel like a traitor, and I hoped my once leafy friends forgave me for abandoning them in their dotage.

When we came back indoors after our toing and froing, the deck overlooking the garden was ankle deep in fallen gold and scarlet leaves, and that cheered us up immensely. Autumn's glorious coinage is something to crow about.

Painted Ladies and Garden Doings

Painted Lady (Vanessa cardui) and Balkan Sage

There must have been at least thirty "ladies" dancing about in a clump of Balkan sage up the road this week. Beau and I stopped for a few minutes on the way home from a morning walk and watched them flutter exuberantly about, a perfect marriage of purple and orange, my favorite colours. Alas, it was a windy morning, and most of the images we captured were fuzzy. There was only a single acceptable capture.

In the garden, the last generation of Monarch butterflies has hatched out, tested their wings and headed south, so the milkweed has been cut down and tucked into the compost bin. The corner where the Aclepias syriaca colony resided this summer looks rather forlorn, and it is certainly less fragrant than it was a few weeks ago. The pods and their enclosed treasure of silks have been harvested and are drying out in the potting shed, to be tossed into new germination areas early next spring.

There are still a lot of green tomatoes in the garden, and many will not mature before the first killing frost, so I will harvest them this week and bring them indoors to complete their journey. The good news is that there is enough curly kale in the veggie patch to do the whole neighbourhood until winter arrives. My favorite brassica does not mind cold weather, and it tastes even sweeter after few frosts. I am planning to blanch and freeze tender young leaves, and they will be used in soups and casseroles and stews when the snow flies. The stuff available in supermarkets during the winter is old and tough and bitter, and I usually avoid it.

My Mojito mint, lemon balm, Vietnamese coriander, sage, rosemary and lavender continue to run riot, a happy thing. I am going to miss the herb garden when winter sets in, and the idea of not having fresh herbs to cook with boggles my mind. I can't quite wrap my sconce around it. How does one live without homemade pesto, and what about glazes and marinades? A hydroponic herb kit may be the answer, and I am thinking of giving myself one for my birthday in December. It would (however) have to be a fair size.

By all accounts, Saturday (Mabon or the Fall Equinox) was the first day of autumn, but my personal clock runs a little differently. Fall is here when I find myself thinking about planting garlic and acquiring other varieties of crocus, and I am certainly doing that. By the reckoning of this Old Thing, autumn has arrived!