Monday morning, looking out my window, I try to read the signs. Dawn tinted the sky red, but soon brightened to yellow with soft white clouds. I think the sky confirms the prediction that a few thunderstorms are possible but unlikely in our area.
Out one window, a maple is flaming red and several other trees are bare of leaves. I don't remember that tree turning colour early other years, and the barren trees usually hold their leaves much later into fall. But then, I start to wonder if my memory is deceiving me or if, because of the drought, poplars and aspens drop their leaves early.
The other window shows fluttering green leaves among the cedars, so I suspect that something has happened to the water table in that part of the swamp where beavers built a dam last summer. Next spring will tell the tale to whoever is watching.
Sweet corn has come and gone at the roadside stand I usually stop at. In my garden, cobs finally formed, and I check them every couple days. They don't feel ready yet, and the raccoon only took one so far. We will see which of us gets the ripe ones soon.
Nearby, the tomatoes are ripening steadily. This is quite unusual for me. Though I plant early varieties, I usually get a few red ones and pick the rest green to ripen inside. This year, I watered the plants through July, and the rain when it came threw them into wild growth. With the heat, this has made five or six red enough to pick everyday. Tomato soup, tomato in salad, tomato in casserole. Meanwhile, as I go to the patch everyday to find the ones ready for picking, I'm watching for signs of blight--last two years I lost the whole patch overnight.
The sunflowers I don't have to search for. They announce their presence, standing high above the rest, brilliant yellow, full of flowers. For them, the drought followed by rain worked magic.
I am looking for stress in perennials and shrubs, however. Most seem to have gone dormant enough in July to carry through. A few shed leaves, but I think the rain came just in time. Certainly, the yellow beans were okay, though a bit tougher than usual. Not sure the dry beans will do as well. The pods need to ripen and then dry on the plant, but these are shorter than normal so the pods touch the ground. A few look moldy already.
The potato plants have started to die back. While I could find the plants that did grow, I dug some to see what they produced. Almost nothing. Most of the roots I planted didn't sprout, so with this poor production I will be buying potatoes. I wonder if the ones that are still sitting under the cover of mulch will sprout this fall or wait until spring or just rot away. I will watch with curiosity this fall, but if they sprout in the spring, someone else will have to think about them.
Recent rains got the gladiolas moving. They were planted late, after all the moisture had evaporated from the ground. I had forgotten them in the basement. I watched the patch for weeks before any movement came. Now there are leaves, though not a flower bud in sight. I worry that the bulbs won't have time to fill out once they flower. Likely, I should have just kept them for another year. But I could not have known in June that we wouldn't get rain until the end of the next month.
I've seen almost ripe grapes. And those vines are super healthy, growing up the trees beside the house, up the pole by the barn. They summon me to work: cutting vines and picking fruit for jelly. But this year their call competes with more urgent tasks.
These days it is dark when I get up. The calendar says it is September. The gladiolas think it is July. That maple tree announces October. In this wonky season, the only thing to do is pay attention to what I see.
Cathy Hird lives near Walters Falls.
