Monday was Labor Day, the holiday we used to call The Last Fling when I was young. It marked the unofficial end of summer. When I was young, school always started the day after Labor Day. Now most schools start early in August. We’d planned to have a traditional Labor Day cookout with hot dogs and hamburgers cooked on Kurt’s new grill, salads, and treats all eaten out by the fire pit. But Nature had other ideas and gave us rain. So instead, we had hamburgers cooked in the oven and boiled hot dogs, and salads and treats eaten in the dining room. It was good, but not as great as it could have been. Then Labor Day passed, the Murrays, our last summer guests, departed for home, and September settled in with a damp thud.
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| Good-bye to the Murrays. |
It was damp and dreary for most of the week. We had rain everyday from Monday through Thursday. I should have been happy for it – I fretted for most of the summer about how dry it was. But when the rain finally came, it was more hindrance than help. We couldn’t dig potatoes or pull onions because the ground was too wet. The raspberries got moldy before we could pick them. The pumpkin and squash vines mildewed and some of the pumpkins rotted before I could rescue them. Many of the ones I did rescue are damaged and will not make it to Halloween. Tall flowers, soaked with rain, sagged over. The lawn grew lushly, but was too wet to mow. Inside the house, all the woodwork swelled with the dampness and doors got stuck in their frames. And low, gray skies day after day made these last days of summer look and feel gloomy. It reminded me of Japan during tsuyu, the rainy season. I feel like a malcontent for complaining about too much rain after complaining about too little rain for so long. It seems the weather swings to extremes and I want moderation.
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| Dreary weather. |
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| Moldy raspberries. |
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| Mildewy pumpkin patch. |
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| Rescued pumpkins on the back porch. |
To occupy my mind on the rainy days, I sat and compiled my list of projects that need to be done before winter sets in. I know we haven’t officially started fall yet, but fall is a fickle season. It can’t be counted on to bring us many workable days. It’s best to start early. My list, even after three days of brooding over it, is not complete. So far it includes:
Cleaning the barn and hauling all the old straw and manure to the compost.
Painting the front porch.
Making better shelves in the cellar.
Stockpiling firewood.
Cutting down dead branches in the big trees.
Mowing and raking the orchard.
Preparing the raised beds and garden rows for winter.
Cleaning the gutters.
Planting garlic and spring bulbs.
I’ll think of more things to add as the days decline. Some items on the list are leftover from last year’s list. I know some of them will not get done and will appear yet again on next year’s list. But I like knowing there is always something waiting to be done. It makes me feel useful and gives me things to look forward to.
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| Sunflower. |
I also had two signs to work on during the week, which kept me busy while I was indoors. Because of the high humidity, the paint took a long time to dry. Between each coat of paint, I watched episodes of Perry Mason, one of my favorite shows from the Golden Age of Television.
Despite the rain, on Wednesday Kurt picked a big batch of sweet corn and that evening Stacey and I helped husk it and Kurt and Julie blanched and froze it. That might be our last picking of corn. I actually hope it is. The wet weather accelerated the decline of the tomatoes. I picked two bucketfuls on Thursday during a pause in the rain, but had to be careful to check for split and moldy fruit. I think tomato time is fast drawing to an end at last. The rain made several late cabbages burst. Rain, when it comes not at all, or too much at once, or at the wrong time, can be a curse rather than a blessing.
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| Husking corn in Shillig's garage. |
By Thursday evening, the weather had begun to clear. Friday was a sunny day, at last, but I was called in to school that day and couldn’t do any garden work until I got home that afternoon. As soon as I got home, I did the chores and then went to the garden. The rain had knocked down many of the flowers and I spent some time deadheading them and trying to get them to stand up again. Then I weeded. The soil was still moist from the rain and the weeds came up easily, but there were so many of them! There are still some lovely things in the flower garden. The gladiolus are almost done, but the dahlias and carnations are still gorgeous and the zinnias look like they might put on a second showing. I’m still waiting for the morning glories to flower. They are always late bloomers and many years don’t make it before frost kills them. There are tiny buds on their vines now, but it will be a tight race. I look forward to their pure blue flowers every year.
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| The carnage after deadheading. |
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| My carnations. |
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| Bouquets of carnations and dahlias. |
Saturday was a lovely day from dawn to dusk. The morning was cool (43°) and sunny with low ground mist hanging over the pond and fields. It looked and felt a little like fall. When I took my walk, there was heavy dew and I could see that the fields were festooned with countless spider webs. This is the season of big spiders. I have several in the upper part of the barn that have made beautiful webs. I like to watch them work. When I got to Burrell’s, I noticed that the swallows are gone. There are usually dozens of them around Burrell’s barn and the ponds. There are none now and the sky seemed forlorn without them. I don’t know when they left. The robins, bluebirds, and orioles are gone too. I see and hear more and more geese flying over. The huge old rosebush at Burrell’s had a few surprise blossoms on it, the last roses of summer. As I walked back to the house, I came up through the big garden and beheld how bedraggled it is now. The glory of the tomatoes and the sturdy cabbages is past. The once rampant squash, cucumber, and pumpkin vines are shriveled wrecks. The only bright color in the orchard are the goldenrod and asters blooming along the wild edges.
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| Saturday morning walk: the beaver pond. |
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| Saturday morning walk: the fields of Gold. |
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| Saturday morning walk: Burrell's pond. |
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| The last roses of summer. |
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No more swallows at Burrell's barn.
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| Spider web. |
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| Funnel spider web. |
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| Orb spider in the long border. |
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| Spiders in the barn. |
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| Spiders in the barn. |
After I returned from my morning walk on Saturday, I canned what will absolutely be the last batch of relish. I know I’ve said that several times already, but I’m sure of it this time. We found some surprise cucumbers hiding in the grassy edge of the garden, they were the very last. There are definitely no more cucumbers. Because we made this last batch so late in the season, there were plenty of ripe red peppers to put in it, which makes for a very colorful and pretty relish. We managed to get four batches this year and that’s good.
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| Sunflower. |
Saturday evening, we decided that the ground was dry enough, and seeing that more rain was forecast, we pulled up all the onions. Stacey, Hannah, Kurt, and I, pulled them and hauled them to the pavilion where we hung some up and spread the rest on tables to cure. We plan to freeze dry most of them. I’m glad they are out of the ground. Now we need to dig up the potatoes, but that will have to wait until this next spell of rainy weather passes.
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| Me and Kurt pulling up onions. |
After two days of beautiful weather, the rain returned last night. It looks like it will be here through Tuesday. Today was our Branch Conference. Members of the Palmyra Stake leadership came down to attend our meetings. They doubled our attendance. After church we had a linger longer. It was nice to enjoy a meal and visit with them. Now we’re home. It’s still raining. I need to go down and do the chores soon. The chickens don’t like the rain. At this point, I don’t either. Miriam has been in Toledo at the Foster’s since Tuesday. She says she’ll probably come home this Tuesday. We miss her when she’s gone. I have lots to do, but I’ll have to wait for things to dry out a bit. And while I wait, the summer wanes.
