Whenever we are away from the garden for a few days, it’s amazing the transformation that happens when you don’t see things unfurl hour by hour. Just a couple of days reveals changes that would have slowly gone unnoticed had I been watching them like water heating to a boil. This time, the seven sons’ flower tree was in bloom – something the tree had been teasing since early July when the little buds first appeared. The blooming for this one takes its sweet time, holding off until now, the very last month of summer, and the final days of August. It’s a balm and solace for the post-birthday let-down I always felt right about now.
It’s a lovely sight – and scent – to discover upon our return, and a welcome reminder that the garden still has magic to perform. The ostrich ferns may be browning up and shriveling away (after an extended showing this summer) and the cup plants have just started to fall over with each rain, getting lower and lower to the ground until they will eventually arch to the point where the stems all but break. Then they will remain there for the winter, frozen fountains of dead stems and branches notable only for the architectural interest, and whatever seed heads might remain for the birds.
That f-word is in the air again – fall – and I’m not mad about it. The garden has had its time, and after a few more weeks of glory, it will be time for its slumber. A rest more than well-earned.
