That's it. We've officially turned the page on autumn. The pool was put to sleep this morning. We had one last beautiful weekend with it.
And now we'll plant the fall vegetables and pansies. The air is already changing. The windows are open. The vernal equinox has passed. Everything's changing.
One more bit of our past behind us.
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Zoe has been hard at work in the office. Filing reports. Interviewing interns. Making phone calls.
Okay, I may have caught her napping. But she works so hard!
Or, you know, not.
Simone even went up to her to make sure she's still breathing. To everyone's relief, she was.
Zoe's office is the Booze Hound Bar and Grill on our sun porch. When we were vacationing in Rhode Island one year to see the mansions and visit Green Animals, we stayed at a B&B. It was a lovely old gingerbread Victorian. I enjoyed strolling throughout the many parlors and hallways, beautifully restored with intricately layered William Morris wallpapers. In the corner of the elegant dining room was an exotic plant. The likes of which I'd never seen. At breakfast, I queried the hostess as to it's name and origin.
*That's a Sharron Barrett Plant Friend sticking out of the top. And a watering ball from my friend, Tatia Johnson. And a bunny cling from the side from my mother. Hoarders? No. We're collectors.
She blushed. The plant was the ill gotten gain of her husband on a trip to Monticello. When he wasn't you know, writing constitutions or being President, Jefferson was a horticulturalist. He collected plants all over the world and brought them back to his greenhouses in Virginia to propagate. This was a snippet of one of those treasures.
She asked me if I'd like a piece to take home. And gave me a cutting as we left to catch our plane. I guess she thought if I became a co-conspiritor that I wouldn't turn her over to authorities.
We just call it the Monticello plant. Or the Jefferson plant. It's easy to grow. Likes bright indirect sunlight and water once a week. No food. It blooms several times a year. And in the years we have had it, it has grown all the way from a four inch trimming to the floor. It has started to snake its way under Zoe's, er, "desk".
So we, in turn, have been cutting it off and giving it away to friends.
And this is also hanging from it. Because it needs lots of things to amuse it. That's the only downfall of the plant apparently.
Our friend, Keith Renard gave the Lollypop Baby to us years ago. He's getting married this November. last week, we gave them a potted piece of the Monticello plant.
Stollen property from a landmark estate. Isn't that what Martha Stuart says in her wedding magazine is the perfect gift for the bride to be?
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It's hard to believe, but our tomatoes are still covered in fruit.
We've only had late season tomato luck with the free range cherry tomatoes by the driveway. These are heirlooms. One of them has over forty green fruits on the plant. It's astonishing.
And I've just about completely neglected them lately. Fresh ripe tomatoes in September. What are the odds of that?
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I know I've told you about my grandmother traumatizing me in my thirties by springing from the bathroom, soaking wet and singing, "I'm naked!" Right?
The horror.
So every summer, around August, you can here me crooning, "I'm NAKED!" as I stroll through the naked ladies. I've told you we live next to a church. Right?
There are great stands of them congregating about the yard. But I admire the way this one has cloaked herself in a blanket of daisies. So modest. See how she blushes?
Yes, she's complementing the tomatoes. Much like this fellow:
The gardens are a daily surprise.
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For the past several years, some scalawag thief has stolen our tomatoes just as they were beginning to turn. Not a few. Not several. All. All of the tomatoes vanished from the garden in the cover of darkness. The plants were left so badly damaged that we had no choice but to rip them out. Two years.
So this year, Hud and I schemed to pot them and move them away form the garden to the patio and driveway.
And it worked! We've been enjoying the most marvelous heirloom tomatoes for a month now. Our bounty was so great last weekend, we shared with the neighbors.
There are fifty newly forming tomatoes divided between two plants alone. We planted fifteen. They are safely nestled amongst the cannas, lilies, iris and petunias as if they were prized ornamental specimens.
We are victorious! And I have to say that the taste of victory is sweet.
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Yesterday, Simone would not go outside to relieve herself because she thought it was raining. The gusty day was blowing down the wisteria. It's a bridal wonderland just beyond the back door.
To see what sassy Simone had to say about it, click this link: http://canikeepit.typepad.com/the_/
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It's that time of year! The tulips have awakened. They're tarting up the backyard in their festive party gear.
And the wisteria histeria is out in full force two weeks early. Usually it waits to open on my birthday, but this year, impatiently burst forth last week.
The bees keep it vibrating. They're too drunk to do anything but bump into your head and excuse themselves.
I love this time of year. Everything seems so fresh with promise.
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As we drove into the driveway of the Hudarosa, we noticed that spring had sprung in our absense.
The daffodills populated the ground. The pear trees were covered in a confetti of white. The tulip trees were dressed in full pink regalia.
It's been unseasonably warm. They've stayed around for two weeks now. It's been so pretty. Normally, the trees burst open into bright beauties only to hit a hard freeze that same evening. The next morning, they have become sad brown crones.
This year, we've had the luck of the Irish.
Cead Mille Failte, Spring!
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The leaves are changing finally. Most of the oaks are simply turning brown, but there are a few surprises.
Like the Japanese maple tree.
And the tomatoes. Yes, Halloween is fast approaching and I am pulling a full pint of cherry tomatoes every single day. They're sweet and flavorful. And there are so many I am going to have to make a big pot of burst tomato soup.
Five years ago, in the raised planter box, just under the crepe myrtle by the driveway, a bird planted a cherry tomato seed. It flourished. Every year, it reseeds and comes back in the spring. This year, it rioted. The petunias Hud had carefully laid out in the box, were soon overtaken by the attack of the killer tomatoes. Not a single one survived.
About a month ago, Hud asked if he should tear them out to make room for the winter pansies. As I surveyed the bush, I noticed that hundreds of tiny green tomatoes filled the stems. I told him to leave them for a few weeks and see what happens.
What happened was a bumper crop.
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The last days of summer are dwindling down.
We closed the pool this week to avoid all those leaves descending from the trees...It's still very hot, but change is everywhere. The dogwoods have started their autumnal blush.
I'm anxious for the change.
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