Summer into Autumn #phenology

Hummingbirds are still around, but it’s been a week or two (or more) since we’ve noticed rose-breasted grosbeaks at the feeders. Pocket gopher(s) are back making mounds of dirt on the slope behind  and opposite the house. Our compost tumbler isn’t composting as quickly or as well as I’d like so today I read more about making compost in a tumbler. Then I went and collected dirt from the new gopher mounds to add to the compost tumbler. That’s the first time in a quarter century I’ve found any real use for a pocket gopher. Tomorrow, weather permitting, I’ll again look for a main tunnel in which  to set a trap and then drag a harrow over the remaining mounds.

hummingbird at window feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

From what I read this morning, our compost needs to be fed more leaves. That now has me considering a leaf shredder to complement the mulching kit on the tractor’s mowing deck, or, I may try mowing some of last year’s leaves and pine needles into the bagging mower and adding a bag or so to the compost. The rest we’ll just haul away and dump in the woods or see if it’s possible to kill some poison ivy by dumping leaf mulch on it, maybe  after we spray it first. This week’s objective is to get our annual autumn chrysanthemums planted (and maybe  some asters).

driveway chrysanthemums

Photo by J. Harrington

It’s astounding how much more ambitious I feel and act come autumn’s breezes and cooler temperatures. Meteorological autumn starts three days from now. As a treat, if you’re not familiar with  George Winston’s music, try a listen to his album titled Autumn in the Internet Archive. It’s uplifting. Isn’t that something we all could use more of these days?

To Autumn

William Blake - 1757-1827

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayst rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

"The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.

"The spirits of the air live on the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees."
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

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