Turkey Tracks: October 21, 2016
Fall Color Finally Came
I had despaired, with the terrible drought we have, of having our usual gorgeous fall color. Many early-turning trees, like the ashes, just let their leaves turn brown and dropped them.
But somehow over the past few days, everything turned gold, orange, and red. The oaks are now turning a deep mahogany–they are like the bass notes in a song.
Yesterday it was 90 degrees in New York City, 80 in Boston, and in the 70s here. And it’s mid-October. There has been no frost on the pumpkins yet on my hill.
Yesterday I picked about 20 Sun Gold cherry tomatoes and harvested what will be the last zucchini. I have been waiting for a freeze to clean up the garden and plant the garlic and other bulbs. (I add daffodils and Siberian scilla every year.)
Now I have a lot to do to clean up and to winterize outside. Or it seems like a lot right now.
Last year was not a good hydrangea year. So I didn’t have any to cut for the house. This year the hydrangeas are glorious.
I cut some of the Annabelle’s, which are white and turn lime green, early on. They are on the left. The outside Annabelle’s have gone brown now.
Yesterday I went out and cut the others until I filled all the vases. I just pull of all leaves and put the stems into a dry vase. Most dry just fine, especially with this dry weather.
Here are some Pee Gees.
And lots of the blue variety:
Some years I’ve used these dried hydrangeas in my Christmas wreath.
I keep saying that I’m cutting “the last flowers in the garden,” but I really do think these Cosmos will be the last to come inside.
I found a few strays for the kitchen window:
That stone in the window is from the Bryan family mill back in the Reynolds, Georgia, area. My beloved uncle, Sydney Hoke Bryan, gave it to me when I was in my early twenties and visiting Reynolds. John and I had started a family and had two little boys 14 months apart. I don’t think I realized then how deep my rural roots were, and I am so grateful to have this time of my life where I am back among farms and farm people.