Winding Down

We're still over a month away from the first average frost date, but you couldn't tell it from standing outside-- in the evenings, you can see your breath, and Kim and I have already turned to the woodstove as a source of warmth.

Knowing that my little vegetative kingdom is now in an irreversible state of decline, I find myself spending less time there. The weeding seems pointless, and the weeds have taken full advantage of my rationalized laziness. The potatoes, once the most vigorous plants in the garden, now stand as ghostly brown stalks marking the buried treasure beneath. The flower garden has grown thin and scraggly, with patches of brown earth peeking out between the dying blooms.

The change was sudden and dramatic. Just a week ago, I was transplanting new cauliflower seedlings to the endless tune of the crickets. But when the cold weather came a few days ago, the cricket songs disappeared. Now the most common sounds are the raucous crows who seem to visit every day, and the frequent dropping of acorns on the roof. The sound of the acorns was loud and unsettling enough to wake me from a light sleep at first, but has since become so commonplace that it barely registers. Buddy has also gotten used to it to-- he used to bark, but now he just perks his ears.

Still, despite the signs of an early winter, there are many plants that have yet to be harvested. The large majority of the tomatoes were spoiled by the wet summer-- even now, tomatoes that are just beginning to ripen are dropping off the vines, as rotted stems give way to the force of gravity. Carrots are waiting to be pulled as needed, two pumpkins are showing the first signs of yellowing, and the two little rows of cabbages have almost finished growing to maturity (to name just a few).

I've shared quite a bit of my vegetables with animals, bugs, and fungi; now, I can only hope that frost doesn't take too heavy of a toll on what remains.