It happens every year, I think the bloom show is over, and up pops the fall crocus. It seems like crocus herald the beginning and the end of the blooming season. Fall crocus have their vegetative phase in the spring. It’s a large corn lilly-looking plant that dies off when other bulbs are done blooming. For years I didn’t know that these plants were in my yard. I would pull them out until I saw the same mysterious plant displayed at a nursery labeled as fall crocus. I finally connected the dots that the crocus that appeared in the fall and these mysterious plants were the same. Now I let them be.
It turns out that these crocus and saffron crocus are very closely related. It’s a great plant. I ignore them and they return faithfully every year in greater numbers popping up in the yard in unexpected places. For more information on fall crocus go here.
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The Day Before Halloween
I was out in the garden today “putting it to bed “ for the winter. It’s good work on a chilly autumn day. I looked up at the sky and the colorful leaves and said to myself “this day deserves a poem- just do it” so I dashed off to the house in search of a notebook and pen. Sometimes you just have to pause, be amazed, and write about it!
Putting the Garden to Bed
Under an intense blue sky
My garden disappears
with each whack of the machete
As I work I discover monstrous cucumbers
Submerged in dying vines like green submarines
And overlooked onions hiding below the straw
The parsnips pull out of the ground reluctantly as always
Sadly too mature to be good eating
As my armloads of spent foliage build up the compost pile
I sigh with memories of sweet tomatoes
And savory salads
I leave the dried heads of the sunflowers standing
For the chickadees’ delight
In Praise of Autumn
“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”
― Anne of Green Gables
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.”
The Fall Equinox has passed and I am absolutely thrilled to be deep in the autumn colors. This is the season where I am released from the obligations of tending to biomass. Living on acreage in W. Oregon we have our share. We have a big garden, an orchard, lawn and flower beds. It’s a place where plants like to grow.
The rains have begun, the garden is torn out, the flower beds are mulched for the winter, and the firewood is in and stacked. This frees up more time to concentrate on my artwork, writing, and music. I sing in a women’s choir and we are getting ready for our holiday show. Additionally, I play the bodhran, an Irish drum and am learning to play the tenor guitar. Travels are finished for the year. It’s good to be home.
In the Bite of an Apple
Apple season is almost over with only our late bearers are still covered with fruit. It was an exceptionally sweet year for some varieties. Within their crisp bodies lie memories.
I bit into the apple
A burst of spring rain
and an explosion of blossoms
filled my mouth
I tasted the footprints of honeybees
long summer days
and the brightness of the autumn sun