We had heavy frost this week. Unavoidable heavy frost.
The world was crackling with the sparkles in the morning and now we have a taste of Indian Summer with a hot sunny weekend. Yesterday we worked outside all day, cleaning the lamb barn and chicken house, repairing a gate, hanging laundry on the line—perhaps for the last time, but who knows?
Though we covered the poblano peppers and annuals, the cosmos didn’t handle the weight of the cloth well and look browned and crispy at the edges. A few blossoms still face the sun. The rest are on the compost heap, contributing to next years’ good soil.
Under the apple tree, the drops were a blanket of red, like thousands of red Easter eggs hidden in the green grass. Enough of them fell into the chicken pen to make the hens happy. The rest, we picked through for making pies and apple sauce, and the rest we gathered to put in the compost layer cake.
While we repaired their gate, the hens had free range. We have too many hawks and foxes to let them range about without our watchful eye, but I love to see them scratching the mulch in the garden, and wandering among the black eyed susans. Happy chickens.
I love the melancholy of final harvests and clean up that comes in the fall. Maybe I am tired enough from the work of summer to welcome a time of rest by fireside.
And there is always next year to dream about. But we will surely have a few more spectacular autumn days to revel in before the trees are bare and the snow clouds settle in for good.