Early mornings have been wrapped in fog.
I love to watch the sun 'burn through.'
We've had a run of perfect autumn days: skies of clear deep blue, afternoons of golden warmth that call us to be outdoors.
We've had many errands, mostly to do with the anticipated move to the Amish property.
Each time that we go there Jim explores another winding back road.
We drive slowly on narrow lanes that follow the meanderings of creeks half hidden behind a screen of vividly colored leaves.
The roads wander around sharp curves, climb the ridges, descend into quiet 'hollers'--bring us out along fields mellow with harvest.
It was windy and bright this morning, but soon after I pegged laundry on the lines, the sky dulled to a satiny grey, the wind increased. As I walked to the garden intending to snip drying seed heads from some favorite cosmos I felt the sting of raindrops.
I hurried the wash into the basement and stuffed it into the dryer.
Rain came in brief bursts through the day--gentle, desultory.
The garden is faded and untidy, the cosmos knocked flat in some places by wind.
I have gathered seed heads from the prettiest of the sunflowers.
They are in an old metal basin in the shop awaiting a few moments when I can shake them loose and divide them into labeled zip-lock bags.
Leaves drift across the grass of the back yard and the landscape seems more open.
A tangle of cosmos and fading zinnias billow around the sunflower stalks.
Morning glories seeded themselves into the garden by the hundreds, clambered into the saplings near the shed, tangled into the green beans, climbed corn stalks.
Jim attacked the brush behind the shed and in the boundary hedges, ruthlessly cutting down brambles and locust saplings, then mowing over pokeweed and morning glories.
Still they have prevailed in the garden.
My Dad was fond of morning glories and planted them each year on the south side of
his Vermont house.
He coaxed them up trellises of string, watched as they reached the topmost limits and began to twine their way back down the strings--often without producing blossoms til nearly time for frost.
He might have enjoyed a few of these which grow in such uninvited profusion.
Morning glories have appropriated a tomato stake---the tomato plant
was pulled up more than a month ago.
Frost asters spill in an unkempt corner near the western edge of our property.
It is a strange tumble of a planting: an evergreen, a straggling rose planted in the evergreen's shade, an iris, a few orange daylilies wandering down the bank toward the road, two clumps of yucca, now going to seed.
In places folds of landscape fabric ripple up between the invasive roots of a hackberry tree.
The former owners mentioned they had hired the services of a landscaper. Perhaps at one time the plantings were tidier.
Now they have an air of randomness, as though 'leftovers' had been poked into the ground haphazardly and left to fend for themselves.
I pruned this rose severely twice during the summer.
The reward has been a flush of late bloom.
The wind kept the branches moving as I tried to take photos.
Nellie watches from behind the glass outer door, doubtless wishing he could come out to chase the leaves which skitter across the asphalt drive to lodge in the damp grass.
I wanted to stay outside in the wind, but there was supper to make, laundry to be put away.
Darkness folded in early, the air cooling quickly.
Unsettled weather is forecast for the remainder of the week, nighttime temperatures expected to drop, a frost expected on Friday night.
Knowing now that this is merely an interim house, an interlude, the usual wrap-up of autumnal activities seems to have little meaning.
I think of a garden at another home; I try to think beyond the continuing ordeal of sorting and repacking those items so tentatively placed in shelves and cupboards.
There are still a few belongings which I must round up and pack at the little farm.
Have I said the proper goodbyes to my gardens there?
I am anxious to take possession of the Amish house, to help with the renovations that must be done before we can live there.
I long to be truly settled--unruffled by winds of change.