3 November: A Journal Post

Frost on Monday morning. 29F at 7:45 a.m.

The violas gave up in the heat of July--as they will--but seeds fallen down into the pot germinated by the dozens, crowding each other out.  The hardiest ones grew and blossomed. Violas and their pansy cousins can endure cold better than heat. 

Shades of purple and lavender glowing through the frost.

Willis sits on the edge of the raised bed, basking in the first rays of sunlight.

Mid-morning I walked up to the mailbox.  This tree, variety unknown, enchants me at all seasons.

There are several in the hedgerow along the property boundary, but crowded by other trees and not as handsome.

The lane divides three ways at this point inspiring the original owners of the property to name it 'Turkey Flatt RD.'  As the leaves fall away our house and barn are more visible from this point.

By noon the violas had lost their icy coating and were none the worse for it.

The greenhouse was blissfully warm, so I propped open the door and with two cats [Willis and Nellie] for company I spent nearly an hour tidying up the benches; I collected plastic pots and trays, sorted and stacked by size, tipping any remnants of soil into a large pot under the bench.  I won't use it for sowing seed but it can be recycled for potting on.

For want of a better place, several straggling lemon balms were interred around the shrub roses in the rough strip.

Collecting pruning snips and my sturdy garden fork I set to work tidying up the west garden.

Coneflowers in their first season in this location bloomed later than those established in the rough garden that lies along the drive. I'm hoping to collect a few seeds from the variety 'Green Twister'--new from Select Seeds in the spring--I would like to raise some more plants for next season.

The tangle against the west wall is the frosted remains of Mexican Torch flower. 

The seeds were a bonus packet sent with my order.  I was unfamiliar with their habit and rather dismayed when the two plants tucked by the wall branched, flopped, spread over everything nearby.

I hacked them down uncovering the small pink landscape rose. a sage plant and one of lemon balm which had been languishing underneath.  The torch flower provides exuberant blooms of a scarlet-orange--striking--but I shall be careful where I plant them in future. Considering that dry seeds showered down between the stones of the walkway I may be doing some strenuous uprooting in the spring.

I cut back the David Austin roses, noting grimly that frost had not deterred the nasty little green worms which have done so much damage. 

So much yet to be done before winter closes in, but I am---perhaps---beginning to know when I've kept at the tasks long enough for one day!

Inside to wash up, fortify myself with a mug of tea and start supper: a hearty lasagna layered with locally raised and processed ground beef, chopped spinach [frozen] three varieties of cheese.  Dawn arrived home to create beautiful individual salads, while I made blueberry muffins.

A sunset of stunning colors.

Daylight fading from the western sky and the feeling of night coming too soon.

We are all struggling this week with the changing of the clocks.

Wednesday morning: 36 F at 7 a.m.  Oatmeal with dried cranberries and last night's blueberry muffins for breakfast.

Back outside to rummage in the greenhouse.

My loyal companions.

Two gifted Daphnes and a small knock-out rose settled into this ungainly but handy tub to hopefully winter over.

I grubbed away, trying to find spots to transplant a few of the iris roots which Dawn and I salvaged from the Dry Creek property.

Landscaping there must wait until spring. so I may end up trying to store the excess woody roots in a bin of soil.

I came inside, tired to the point of stumbling stupidity!

We all ate supper at different times--great wodges of leftover lasagna.

I managed to create a pumpkin pudding to serve with whipped cream, and Dawn made molasses cookies.

The outcome of this harrowing election farce hangs over all this evening.

Pandemic, shut-downs, politicians who can do nothing but bicker and accuse.

My return to journaling--online instead of scribbles in notebooks--an attempt perhaps at burying my head in my own small domestic pursuits.