Welcome (to) September!

This morning, as I refilled both nectar feeders, I wondered if today will be the last time they'll be filled this year. Based on last year's data, our ruby-throated hummingbirds are likely to have flown South (at least of us) my mid-month to month's end. We will be watching to see if we get visits from those who may have nested North of us. Last year, all sightings had ended by the third week of this month.

ruby meadowhawk dragonfly

Photo by J. Harrington

As SiSi and I returned from our mid-day walk, she stopped to sniff something. As she was sorting out whatever aromas currently had her fascinated or baffled, I  happened to notice a ruby meadowhawk dragonfly land on a low-growing roadside plant. There are fewer and fewer dragonflies to be seen around the neighborhood these days and I hadn't seen any red meadowhawks this year until today, although they're listed as being "on the wing" starting at the end of June.

The dog and I began our walk with a swing by the live trap that was set behind the recycling can. Today it held a chipmunk that looked extremely annoyed. I wondered if it was the same striped critter I saw on the deck yesterday. After the walk, and the meadowhawk sighting, I left SiSi in the kitchen with the Better Half, loaded the trap with its annoyed (temporary) occupant into the back of the Jeep, and transported it to a nearby release site.

sky-blue aster (Symphyotrichum oolentangiense)

Photo by J. Harrington

We're seeing more patches of leaves that are changing colors, but still no signs of the local asters blooming. Today's temperatures are running a little cooler than forecast, probably due to the unforecast cloud cover. The cooler temperatures affected the amount of time it took for my sourdough to rise. They also affected the amount of the rise. We won't know until it's baked if the crumb quality has been affected.

And Now It’s September,

By Barbara Crooker

and the garden diminishes: cucumber leaves rumpled

and rusty, zucchini felled by borers, tomatoes sparse

on the vines. But out in the perennial beds, there’s one last

blast of color: ignitions of goldenrod, flamboyant 

asters, spiraling mums, all those flashy spikes waving

in the wind, conducting summer’s final notes.

The ornamental grasses have gone to seed, haloed

in the last light. Nights grow chilly, but the days

are still warm; I wear the sun like a shawl on my neck

and arms. Hundreds of blackbirds ribbon in, settle

in the trees, so many black leaves, then, just as suddenly,

they’re gone. This is autumn’s great Departure Gate,

and everyone, boarding passes in hand, waits

patiently in a long, long line.

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