It’s that transitional time again, one season sliding into the next, where the usual daily routine is changing as well and leaving me feeling as if I’m in a sort of no-man’s-land. Or no-woman’s, as the case may be.
In the summer, the sun is up early and so am I, full of energy and ready to go; even sitting with a cup of coffee can leave me itchy to get up the hill to see what’s blooming. But now, it’s all different. I woke at 5:25 to darkness, feeling somewhat disoriented even though the change has been coming gradually. My day starts much more slowly. There’s nothing new in bloom; there’s very little left in bloom, in terms of daylilies, and it’s often chilly as the sun comes up over the hill. I linger over a second cup, wearing a fleece jacket in the cool kitchen, thinking of all the veggies to be harvested, the sauces and soups and blanching and freezing that lie ahead. There are still plenty of daylilies to be lifted, divided, and transplanted, but I realized at some point with dismay that I simply won’t be able to get to all of them before it becomes too late in the season. At least the old potato patch is now planted with new daylily varieties.
Weeds and tall grasses, of course, are rampant at this time of year; yellow jackets have made underground nests throughout the planted areas, painfully discovered as we pull weeds. This weekend we’ll take the brush hog to the upper field, start in on the hillside, and eventually change over to the tiller to prep areas for next year’s cover crops, garlic, and new daylily beds.
Putting the gardens to bed, taking down trellises and posts, picking up row cover and plastic mulch – these tasks are not anywhere near as exciting or inspiring as setting them all up in the spring, when the pleasure and warmth and bounty of summer still lie ahead. And the weariness that comes from a season full of work begins to take its toll; it becomes increasingly challenging to find the energy to tackle these chores.
Each season I have good intentions of starting fall crops in August; this year, the plan was to build some raised beds for the center of the greenhouse, to extend the growing season for salad greens. A terrific idea … but once again, it will not come to pass in this calendar year. There’s simply not enough time or energy. And that’s okay. We’ll patronize our friends who sell their late-season greens at farmers market, do what we can here to clean up and prepare for next year, and look forward to that long winter’s rest.
Before that first hard frost, though, there is still so much to appreciate: a bumper crop of pie pumpkins (pumpkin soup! sautéed spiced pumpkin! pumpkin pancakes!) and winter squash still ripening, kale and collards that keep on going, a lush crop of parsnips that will be left in the ground to sweeten until early spring; bunches of fresh herbs hung to dry; white phlox that decided to wait until now to blossom. Wonderful suppers, straight from the garden, and the freezer filling more and more each day. Think back to the beginnings of all of this … just a few handfuls of tiny seeds; isn’t it a miracle?
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