It has been such a lovely day. I spent over four hours out in the garden. On these nice mornings, I find it almost impossible to drag myself back indoors. At first, the day was thick with fog. It was heavy enough that it made me want to adjust my vision. The girls and I were watching and listening to the birds. We have such a great variety of them dancing around. Their beautiful blues, whites, browns, reds, blacks, yellows, purples, and greys make a fun contrast to the bright white and red berries now draping from bushes and vines that have grown up into the trees. I simply cannot get enough of their happy chatter.
The girls ate breakfast out on the patio. Shelly sat near me, as watchful as I. Giraffe bounced in and out of her chair. She inspected every new bug or chased down each sound she noticed. (She doesn't like to have insects come near her, even though she enjoys looking at them.) Both girls inspected the new flowers that have brightened the bushes. We've not seen these before. I learned today that they are called Goldenrod.
This home is perfectly situated for Hubs and me. I absolutely adore lighthouses. He adores planes. We didn't know when we chose to build in this neighborhood that there are two lighthouses we pass on the way in. One is part of a minigolf course. The other is in a backyard visible to the road. Our home is also in the path where small planes take off from the local airport. Perfect, no? When I realized this, I told Hubs that if I had ever doubted that the Lord had put us here (I didn't), the planes and lighthouses would have instantly confirmed that this is where we are meant to be. <3
I digress. Back to this morning. The kids went inside the house and did their schoolwork for the day. (I love how swiftly they move through it!) I stayed outside on the other side of the screen door (I am still their mom, after all!) and enjoyed the birds and animals a while longer, snacking on some Yellow Pear tomatoes. Delicious! Giraffe finished her schoolwork and came back out to play on the swing; alternately swinging and flitting around me like the little butterfly she is. Her happy chit-chat scared away the birds, but it always brings a smile to my heart. :)
I moved over to prune the cantaloupes. I found a nice, ripe one smelling sweet in its crochet sling.
By then, Shell had also finished her schoolwork. I had her bring out a plate and a knife. The three of us sat under the cantaloup arch. I cut the melon and the girls ate it fresh, right there in the garden. *happy sigh* After that, I enrolled Shell to help me finish pruning her cantaloupes. We took out all vines that were either dead or were not bearing fruit. The arch looked positively naked! lol It still does!
I was pruning below and she above when, fffffWUMP!!! Out of nowhere, a huge spider landed on the front of my shoulder!!! All I could see was its massive legs and abdomen! I screamed!
My kids jumped around exclaiming, "WHAT? What, Mom? What? Are you alright!?"
Honestly, I felt quite silly and a bit sad when I realized that the massive spider that had just received a frantic swatting was, in fact, a praying mantis! Oh, no! We love these guys, and this one was especially beloved. Shelly had discovered him living in the cantaloupes earlier this week. He seemed quite at home in our garden, content to eat bugs and wait on the arrival of a murderous girlfriend.
The girls and I, worried that I may have killed him, fussed over the poor thing. I apologized to him and the kids repeatedly. He was lying on the ground in shock.
Shell has a heart for all creatures. She tenderly lifted him into her hand and carried him the next arch over to recover on one of the giant leaves of the butternut squash plant. We have kept a gentle eye on him all day. I am pleased to report that he came to, and has moved around the garden to stalk bugs.
Being September already, the plants are winding down along with the year. Bees arrive later every day. I like to imagine that they remain nestled in their hives, waiting for the cool temperatures to rise. Fog or mist more frequently hangs in the air and stunning diamond droplets of dew kiss the leaves and petals all around. Young squirrels dart furtively through the trees, waiting for us to come inside so they can forage.
The dawn sunlight peeks over the neighboring trees and houses at a slightly different angle now; setting the arches and panels of our garden aglow, yet casting a chill shadow over the patio near the door where I sit. Sun warms my legs and feet; shade covers the rest of my body.
Purple Dragon Carrots came up small but incredibly tasty. Next year I won't make the mistake of planting them in a container. Watermelon Radishes I thought needed more time sprouted flowers and start to bolt. Their white-wrapped fuschia bulbs tasted slightly bitter because I waited too long. Nature's massive heartbeat, so like the comforting thud of my dad's, has begun to slow. Everything around is ready to move on but I, it seems.
We have stripped away the cucumber vines. Absent their buds and leaves, the annoying but pretty cucumber beetles find less reason to hang out. Solitary Butternut and Spaghetti Squash vines remain, each nurturing a final fruit. I have decided to cook them in some special way.
Tomatoes are yawning. I pruned a lot of excessive foliage; preparing for the day when they need to be removed. It seemed timely given the cooler nights. It is interesting how you can practically feel it in your body; the way they go from booming reds, oranges, and yellows to almost struggling to ripen. There will be no new bread-sized tomatoes. The ones that remain will pink up smaller than those we picked before. They will be cool to the touch. This is when tomatoes lose their appeal to me.
Yes, the garden is almost done for the year. I suppose I could be considered almost hopelessly romantic about the entire thing. I breathe more deeply, feel more peaceful, and live my life intrinsically connected to what is happening outside my back door.
There is a rhythm to everything in nature. Spring first teases of new life with buds, sprouts, and the courting calls of birds. Summer buzzes in at a breakneck speed. Cicadas' shrill vibrations ring in the trees. Bees zing around plants; at first light with their busywork pollinating countless blooms. Before long they labor more slowly, looping and dropping under heavy loads of pollen. I chuckle to myself, "Go back to the hive! You can barely fly!" They never do. Blossoms of all sizes beckon them: nature's variegated boastings of extravagant growth. Autumn then cheers us with brightly colored berries in the bushes as birds begin to slip away. Leaves turn bright and flutter to the ground in an effort to distract us from the coming winter. And come winter does, bringing with it the desiderium of seasons gone by.
And I? I look covetously out the window, dreaming again of summer and bees and the next verdant garden to come.
