Fun to leaf through. Periodically. The first hard frost holding off until the last week of October is a mixed blessing.
On the one hand, it was exciting to eat fresh summer squash, peppers and green beans — even tomatoes and Thai eggplant — just days before Halloween, but on the other, we had to hold off clearing the garden of the season’s detritus.
As eager as I am to embark each spring on the year’s vegetative journey, I am equally as eager to retire once daylight wanes and temperatures sink.
Like Christmas, anticipation fuels my captivation. Leading up to the Eve, food is magical, music is joyful and companionship is dear. But in the flat winter’s light of Christmas afternoon, children need to sleep, dishes need to be washed and guests need to head for home.
The holiday is over, and tired, sad decorations must take their bow.
So it is with the garden. Leading up to Memorial Day, seed catalogs are magical, lengthening days are joyful and seedlings are dear. But, when dawn arrives after a killing frost, all that plant life I so lovingly nurtured and tended and celebrated needs to find the compost heap.
The growing season is over, and tired, withered plants must exit the stage.
Except, of course, for the encore of hardy greens, cole crops and root vegetables that thrive when temperatures dip below 40.
On the one hand, it was exciting to eat fresh summer squash, peppers and green beans — even tomatoes and Thai eggplant — just days before Halloween, but on the other, we had to hold off clearing the garden of the season’s detritus.
As eager as I am to embark each spring on the year’s vegetative journey, I am equally as eager to retire once daylight wanes and temperatures sink.
Like Christmas, anticipation fuels my captivation. Leading up to the Eve, food is magical, music is joyful and companionship is dear. But in the flat winter’s light of Christmas afternoon, children need to sleep, dishes need to be washed and guests need to head for home.
The holiday is over, and tired, sad decorations must take their bow.
So it is with the garden. Leading up to Memorial Day, seed catalogs are magical, lengthening days are joyful and seedlings are dear. But, when dawn arrives after a killing frost, all that plant life I so lovingly nurtured and tended and celebrated needs to find the compost heap.
The growing season is over, and tired, withered plants must exit the stage.
Except, of course, for the encore of hardy greens, cole crops and root vegetables that thrive when temperatures dip below 40.
Our frist stab at kohlrabi – trowel and error. Brussels sprouts and parsnips kissed by cold are worth the wait, and our crisp radicchio have yet to set heads. With luck, we’ll be enjoying them as well as broccoli, kohlrabi and Swiss chard well into December.
Has-beans? In the meantime, my husband, Kevin, and I are dutifully tearing out lifeless stalks and vines, storing tomato poles, dismantling bean trellises and stacking potato buckets. Occasionally we spy undiscovered, neglected fruit or out-of-seasonal-synch volunteers that fell victim to frost. But, mostly, the once-bustling earthen community seems desolate, sporting a dappled coat of dried, shriveled leaves. It’s due for an intermission — and so are we.
Inside, the wood fires roar, harvest perfumes mingle — apples, winter squash, potatoes, dried herbs — and cooking aromas entrance.
It’s a mixed blessing.
Inside, the wood fires roar, harvest perfumes mingle — apples, winter squash, potatoes, dried herbs — and cooking aromas entrance.
It’s a mixed blessing.
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