September “Summer” #phenology

We are enjoying the gift of another beautiful late summer, early autumn day. I noticed the female and/or juvenile ruby-throated hummingbirds are still around. It’s been weeks since we’ve seen a male. A day or so ago I saw a small dragonfly along the road’s edge. Still no sightings of woolly bear caterpillars. For nimrods, ruffed grouse season opens Saturday when it’s forecast to be thunderstormy and 80℉. That’s not the kind of weather I’d enjoy hunting grouse in.

Northern Minnesota ruffed grouse

Photo by J. Harrington

The asters and mums we planted are settling in nicely and brightening the place even more. Thursday or Friday we’ll collect the first box of our Community Supported Agriculture [CSA] autumn share. This morning I managed to dig up about half the bed where the Better Half wants to plant peonies. With luck, I’ll finish digging tomorrow and then work in a summer’s worth of compost.

It is hard to believe that we’re almost halfway through September, but I’ve noticed that I’m getting back into a baking-bread-more-frequently routine. That corresponds with fewer salads and more warm dinners showing up in the household supper/dinner menu. We’re not quite back to the soups and stews season, but I think I can see it from here unless, of course, the weather becomes as messed up as the stock market is these days. Admittedly, the stock market isn’t the economy, but it appears the Fed’s determination to put a stake through the heart of inflation may lead to an example of “the operation was a success, but the patient died” condition.

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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