Picking up from the previously-named contingent of marvelousness that is Rachel Brosnahan and LeRoy McClain, this Dazzler of the Day is noted for her performance as Rose Weissman in ‘The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’. In many ways she is my favorite character, probably because I feel she is the most like me, in every failing and character foible. Her intent is never wrong or ill, and she retains a nobility and grace and elegance in the face of the world around her crumbling apart, and I admire that too. On some level she realizes she is less than perfect, but her belief in everything she does imbues even her mistakes with a sense of poise and refinement. Hinkle has a history of impeccably embodying real, complex and often hilariously-comedic characters, such as in her work on ‘Once and Again’ and ‘Two and a Half Men’. As the mother to Mrs. Maisel, she’s at the top of her game.
This Cornus kousa ‘Wolf’s Eye’ tree easily wins the contest for longest season of beauty and interest, thanks to its incredibly extended ‘blooms’ (more accurately bracts) in this rainy summer of 2021. They lasted well into August – an unheard-of length of time to be in bloom, faux or not. Followed by these pretty pink berries (so delectable to the birds and squirrels), the variegated Chinese dogwood in our backyard has made the otherwise-disappointing summer this much prettier.
This particular specimen also housed a robin’s nest earlier, with its gorgeously-shaded eggs and territorial red-breasted birds, and is now providing much food ad fodder for the roving bands of squirrels and not-so-finicky finches, which have moved from the cup plant seed heads to these speckled fruits. Taken altogether, the Chinese dogwood provides almost four full seasons of beauty and interest.
The simple yet majestic magnificence of the chrysanthemum – so revered by Asia year-round, and in this country particularly in the fall – informs this quick post. Coming into bloom at the tail-end of the growing season, when the gardens are all set to begin their slumber, these mums are the final display of floral fireworks, and cherished all the more for that. I’m a relatively recent appreciator of the chrysanthemum. They always looked overwrought and over-hybridized to my eyes. Lately, though, I admire their perfect form and their long blooming period. They wore me down. It’s easier to give in than fight a long and possibly-losing battle. Making peace with the easy prettiness of such a ubiquitous plant seems the wisest move for a happier future. Know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em. Know when to walk away, know when to run. And count your blessings. Fall is at hand.
If I posted this blog link on social media (FaceBook, Twitter or Instagram) then I must have survived the day it was predicted I would meet my end. So much for the accuracy of Halloween Hayride prophecies. Not that it didn’t make for an interesting day. One is a bit more careful when one is told they are going to die on a certain date. One is naturally a little more cautious.
In my case, I was weary of just about everything, and the most mundane objects or actions took on dangerous form. A flower vase suddenly looked like it might shatter and puncture some important vein. A few drops of rain during an afternoon swim had me certain that lightning would strike. Doing the smallest dance step to this song in the shower was accompanied by visions of me falling and smashing my head on the tile.
As the day wound to its close, and it looked like I might survive, I thought it might be nice to let the small world of casual acquaintances sweat it out a bit – hence the prickliness of this post. If you can choose to be prickly instead of soft, I’ll always choose prickly. Like the beautiful castor bean seed pods seen here, which finally popped in time for fall. They embody my bitter brand of sassiness right now, and I’ll never say sorry for that. Because you can’t be that mad at pretty. Or at life, especially when you’ve been given another shot at it.
It was in this post where I describe the spooky ghoul who predicted my death date as… wait for it… (but don’t wait that long)… today, September 23, 2021. So depending on what time of the day this cataclysmic (for me) event takes place, this post may be coming to you posthumously. Of course, as is my wont, I won’t be going quietly or easily, so consider this anything but a parting shot. I’ve touched enough people to live on for quite a few more years, even if I’m not physically here. There are stories to tell, memories to rekindle, and ways to survive beyond this world. In truth, my presence often looms larger when I’m absent… and you don’t even know it. Don’t think that wasn’t designed.
There’s a clock on the wall and it’s moving too slow
It’s got hours to kill and a lifetime to go
And I’m holding my breath ’til I hear the last bell
Then I’m coming out hard and I’m giving ’em hell
For a last song, this one truly sings to me. It’s not about fading out or going gently into that good night. It’s from my latest obsession ‘Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’ and it could function as a hello and goodbye… and you don’t even know it.
I’m a superstar and you don’t even know it
In a wonder bra and you don’t even know it
You’re so blah, blah and you don’t even know it
I’m like, au revoir and you don’t even know it
There’s a path I’ve planned (and you don’t even know it)
To the promised land (and you don’t even know it)
And you won’t understand (and you don’t even know it)
‘Cause you’re my backing band (and you don’t even know it)
And it’s the Jamie show (and you don’t even know it)
‘Cause you’re meh, so-so (and you don’t even know it)
And sorta slow (and you don’t even know it)
And I’m go, go, go (and you don’t even know it)
When I was first told of the day I was going to die, I was both relieved and grateful – relieved that it was set and done, and grateful for the two years I had then in which to tick through my bucket list. The only problem? I don’t really have much of a formal bucket list – – and so I proceeded through the last two years fumbling along as I’ve done for much of my life – while improving and bettering myself in small increments. Regrets? Nah. Every misstep and mistake made me smarter, better, faster, stronger and all that shit. I also did it while impeccably attired. The world crumbled around us, but I would not go down without a sartorial last stand.
I’ve got the dreams, I’ve got the style
I’ve got the moves to make you smile So kiss my ass goodbye
‘Cause I’m gonna be the one
I’m on my way, I won’t be turned
Your stupid lessons I’ve unlearned
And I’ll be free to fly
And I’m gonna kiss the sun…
While the fashion fairies worked their magic on my exterior, I also worked on what was going on inside – the heart, the head, the soul – all of it messy and convoluted and embedded with years of turmoil, trouble and transformation. The quest for perfection – a foolish and impossible quest with no happy ending – was seen as the dead end it always was, and in its place I found a happier freedom, dropping the guard in ways I never thought possible.
And if ever you find life is getting you down
There’s a party to start in a new part of town
Where there’s a guest list of one and the name’s Jamie New
And if you ask me real nice I might sign you in too
‘Cause baby I’m a hit (and you don’t even know it)
Legit (and you don’t even know it)
Better give me room (and you don’t even know it)
For my va-va voom (and you don’t even know it)
‘Cause I’m coming up (and you don’t even know it)
In a double D cup (and you don’t even know it)
When a boy’s this stacked (and you don’t even know it)
He’s the headline act (and you don’t even know it)
What would you do if you were told the exact day you were going to die? Live it up? Give it up? Change your life? Change nothing at all? For the most part, I forgot about the prediction until someone at work brought it back up. Part of me thinks I would have sailed through this day without incident if I hadn’t been reminded of it. Now a small, fantastical part of me thinks I may unwittingly will it into being, pricking my finger on some hidden spindle I didn’t remember storing in some dim corner of the attic.
I’ve got the dreams, I’ve got the style
I’ve got the moves to make you smile
So kiss my ass goodbye
‘Cause I’m gonna be the one
And when you’re old, like 32
You’ll all remember Jamie New
The kid who learned to fly
And I’m gonna kiss the sun
Which brings us to this moment and the hours that remain to the day – perhaps my last day – perhaps your last day too because who knows when anyone’s time is up? I feel like I should have some contingency plan in effect, when in fact all I have is a couple of posts pre-populated here (and none of them particularly exceptional, so tell everyone this was my last one). Beyond that there is only the beautiful abyss, the beautiful hereafter, the beautiful whatever-is-to-come… and that holds true for every day – the ones we don’t get to begin, and the ones that we do.
Oh baby I’m a hit (you don’t even know it)
So admit (we you don’t even know it)
Yeah, I’m a hit (she you don’t even know it)
Just a bit (he you don’t even know it)
And I’m smoking hot (we you don’t even know it)
And I’ve got the lot (we you don’t even know it)
Yeah, what I got (she you don’t even know it)
Yeah, you have not
We don’t even know it (you don’t even know it)
We don’t even know it (you don’t even know it)
She don’t even know it (she don’t even know it)
He don’t even know it (he don’t even know it)
We don’t even know it (you don’t even know it)
She don’t even know it (you don’t even know it)
She don’t even know it
And you don’t even know it
There’s the family we are born with, and the family we choose. In rare and exceedingly happy circumstances, the two converge and you find yourself related to some pretty fabulous people. Such was the case when Andy’s cousin (or second cousin, or first cousin once-removed, or second cousin nunce-removed – I just can’t figure it out) came into the world.
Tyler likes to joke that I don’t remember the first time I met him. Or the first few times. He’s not entirely inaccurate. In truth, I don’t remember specifically meeting him those initial times, and all those many years ago. He was about twelve or thirteen the first time he attended a family party we were having, and anyone under the age of twenty simply doesn’t register with me. I was also drinking appletinis at the time, so clearly I was not of sound mind. I’m better about the wee ones now, but back then I likely said a quick and curt hello then moved on to someone who could share a ridiculous cocktail.
Luckily, Tyler was a forgiving and sensible child, and grew into a similarly-sensible young man, so by the time he was old enough to share those cocktails he completely understood my aversion to kids and could entirely relate. When he and his boyfriend Kevin visited us two summers ago, we had a wonderful time, so when he said he wanted to visit Boston at some point I jumped at the chance to show him a couple of favored places. Any excuse to head to Boston makes me happy. While we cycled through a number of questionable old CD mixes to fill the space with music, the one that spun round the most may have been Shirley Horn, and so I offer ‘Here’s to Life’ – the title track to my favorite album of hers, and a fall musical moment if ever there was one – as the soundtrack to a lovely weekend that also nicely sets up for fall.
No complaints and no regrets
I still believe in chasing dreams and placing bets
But I had learn that all you give is all you get
So give it all you got
Two of his friends joined him from the airport and we sat around the condo on Friday night nibbling at the now-requisite charcuterie board, shooting the shit and discussing quantum physics, LSD, cancel culture, and palliative care. I loved every minute of it. It was a lively beginning to the weekend – and before I knew it the clock was striking 2 AM.
I had my share, I drank my fill
And even though I’m satisfied, I’m hungry still
To see what’s down another road beyond the hill, And do it all again
Tyler was game for a walk along the Esplanade, and after picking up some pastries at Flour, we made our way along the Charles River, pausing for our sweet treats then winding our way through Beacon Hill and up to the Boston Public Garden.
Funny how the time just flies, how love can go from warm hellos
We exited the Garden and walked down Newbury Street, making our way into and through Copley Square, then through the Southwest Corridor Park and its little gardens of neighbor-tended beauty – an oasis of sorts in the middle of the city, and always a welcome and hidden gem that most tourists thankfully don’t bother to visit. A Korean lilac was confusingly in bloom as if it were May again – an echo from earlier trips here, and a welcome spot of perfume as the day had turned warm. It was time for my afternoon siesta, as I explained to Tyler, imploring him to hang out with his friends while my old ass took a brief nap.
We met back up in time for a dinner at the Buttery, and a walk through the South End on a remarkably pleasant evening – despite the odd appearance of lightning all around the city. After dinner, we explored some more, landing at the relatively new (to me, at least) Revolution Hotel and its restaurant Cósmica – where we had a drink and a look-see, which will definitely merit a return visit, if only for the bartender who got a kick out of our pap smear conversation.
For there’s no yes in yesterday
And who knows what tomorrow brings or takes away
As long as I’m still in the game
I want to play – for laughs, for life, for love
When we began our walk home, it was raining – the mark of a proper summer weekend in Boston this year – and so we completed the soaked gauntlet, arriving back at the condo in what fittingly felt like a fall night at last. It was warm upstairs, and we settled in for another late-night of talking before reluctantly going to bed and ending a satisfying day.
So here’s to life
And every joy it brings
Here’s to life
For dreamers and their dreams
May all your storms be weathered
And all that’s good get better
Tyler was great company, and there’s no happier realization than finding family with whom you actually enjoy spending time and sharing adventures. We spoke of future plans, and the possibility of meeting up in Baltimore or Savannah, or Phoenix or Boston again, and having him and Kevin back up to Albany for leaf-peeping season. All happy ideas, all ideas of hope, all of the very best that life can sometimes be when the stars agree to align.
It took about 40 years, but Abba is finally releasing new music this fall, and ‘Don’t Shut Me Down’ is officially our song of the season, charming with its typically lush melodies and harmonies, and lyrics that lend themselves to myriad universal readings – as any decent Abba song does. My own take is going to align with the fall season, and the opportunity for a renewal of promises, a promise of a new beginning, and a beginning of something that might be more wonderful than anything we’ve known. After a summer of disappointment, such over-the-top proclamations are welcome – and if we fail at reaching the moon and stars, perhaps we’ll land in some lofty tree top that still manages to afford something better than where we’ve been treading.
A while ago I heard the sound of children’s laughter
Now it’s quiet, so I guess they left the park
This wooden bench is getting harder by the hour
The sun is going down, it’s getting dark
A group as venerable as Abba might seem an unlikely choice for injecting something fresh and new into the stagnancy that was this summer, and perhaps the previous year, but on giving this one a few listens, I’m here for it and all its creamy lusciousness. It matches the slightly gaudy color scheme we’ve implemented for fall – the brilliant clash of orange and fuchsia, and touches of bright purple and hot pink to add further spark and jarring juxtaposition. Sometimes more is simply and wonderfully more.
I realize I’m cold
The rain begins to pour
As I watch the windows on the second floor
The lights are on, it’s time to go
It’s time at last to let him know
I believe it would be fair to say
You look bewildered
And you wonder why I’m here today
And so you should, I would
When I left I felt I’d had enough
But in the shape and form I appear now
I have learned to cope
And love and hope is why I am here now
If you are one of the marvelous readers who has returned here faithfully over the past couple of decades, first of all, thank you. It is for us that I keep posting and writing and creating, and if you gather any enjoyment or amusement from this, it means more than you know. Second, faithful visitors over the last few years may have seen the gradual shift in tone and atmosphere, as a personal blog is prone to reflect the shifts and evolution of the person in charge of it. While appearance and superficial flash will always have a place here, there’s room for something deeper, something more meaningful, and I’m finding that more in my friends and family, and in the journey of becoming a better person, no matter how small or slight the increments or reaches end up being.
And now you see another me, I’ve been reloaded, yeah
I’m fired up, don’t shut me down
I’m like a dream within a dream that’s been decoded
I’m fired up, I’m hot, don’t shut me down
I’m not the one you knew
I’m now and then combined
And I’m asking you to have an open mind
I’m not the same this time around
I’m fired up, don’t shut me down
And so we begin a new fall season – the concluding phase of our 18th year (#19 begins in January 2022!) There are a few new characters about to be introduced, some old traditions that will hopefully be resurrected, and that recharged autumnal energy that can only come from a chill in the morning air. I want to continue expanding and implementing the mindfulness that comes with meditation, while working to be a better husband, son, uncle, brother, and friend. That means there’s a little more personal investment in the stories spun here, and a deeper emotional pull that makes this a labor of love. There’s also a humility and vulnerability at work as well, because I’m going to continue to make mistakes, and nothing here was ever, or will ever be, perfect. We will reckon with that too – and that’s always going to be more riveting than my naked ass – or any naked ass for that matter – could ever be.
Will you leave me standing in the hall
Or let me enter?
The apartment hasn’t changed at all
I got to say I’m glad
Once these rooms were witness to our love
My tantrums and increasing frustration
But I go from mad
To not so bad in my transformation
Fall is the prime time for such new ventures. It’s when we get to see how our little cast of characters has evolved and changed, what sort of new hairstyles they have (mine will be gray) and what new wardrobe selections will be revealed (I’m embracing Harry Styles and high waists of late). Above and beyond that, there are some familiar and not-so-familiar faces entering the fray – the twins are now old enough to stay over and be more or less self-sufficient. We have a traditional Treasure Hunt weekend coming up that may involve a trip to Manchester, Vermont. Our cousin Tyler is back on the East Coast and up for more adventures. And a long-lost high school friend from Amsterdam resurfaced, so watch for her Boston debut here as well. All in all, some good people are set to join our crazy circle.
And now you see another me, I’ve been reloaded, yeah
I’m fired up, don’t shut me down
I’m like a dream within a dream that’s been decoded
I’m fired up, I’m hot, don’t shut me down
I’m not the one you knew
I’m now and then combined
And I’m asking you to have an open mind now
I’m not the same this time around
I’m fired up, don’t shut me down
Even better than the new are the stalwart standbys – the precious people who have populated my life and saved it on more than a few occasions – friends and family who continue to enrich my life, and make the marked difficulties of living in such a time not only bearable but enjoyable – and for that I am extremely thankful and excited. They are the main characters of this space, and if you’ve been here with any regularity you know them by name. Here, everybody is a star.
As for you, who are reading this now – you are always welcome to join in the fun. I’m glad you’re here. Let’s head into fall together.
You asked me not to leave
Well, here I am again
And I love you still and so I won’t pretend
I have learned to cope
And love and hope is why I am here now.
A new season doesn’t always begin with a bang, just as most New Year Days are quiet and simple mornings of reflection and contemplation. This fall feels small in that way, in a very good way, because after a year and a half of this madness a quiet little entry into a new season is the most comforting way to approach change. We’ve all been through a lot, and the world has collectively been traumatized. That’s something we have only begun to realize, and I’m concerned that the effects will linger far longer than most of us realize.
That said, this site has never been one to sound the doomsday clock, or to watch it tick down to danger without offering some fantastic alternative of escapist frivolity and nonsense with which to divert our harried minds. To that end, let’s enter this fall season with a little intrigue and mystery, a colorful reigniting of passions after a summer, drained and devoid of many pleasures, fades into shades of gray.
A scarf dances in the wind, alighting on a dogwood heavy with its own fruit, which is still no match to the super-saturated brightness of this pseudo-silk accessory. How a scarf came to be in the branches of a dogwood is a story likely not worth a telling, much less a re-telling at some later date, and so the mystery shall remain. Fall carries mystery with it, with its expanding darkness, the coolness on the wind, the way it teases you into its early pleasures right before striking it all down in a hard frost. Such a cruel sleight of hand, such a lovely way to burn.
Dancing over to a hydrangea in its own salmon-hued bloom, the scarf winds its way through the garden like a snake, hiding among the branches and blooms that tickle its passing fancy. Fall is tricky like that too, cajoling and nudging us along in sun and splendor until we’ve passed a point of safe return, and then it clamps down its frost-laden nights, freezing the ground and heaving the fields.
The afternoon sunlight on certain September days no longer belongs to summer, and the change is distinct to those who have seen it before. It’s both sharper and gentler, crisp yet supple. Summer gets all the glory, but the real secret is that fall color resonates more deeply. The sky is the bluest it will ever be. The blooms, if there are any repeat bloomers, are smaller but richer in tone and shade. And soon, very soon, the foliage will ignite and burn itself up in autumnal splendor.
For now, though, there is this scarf, and a necklace of fuchsia beads that may or may not come into some greater play sooner or later or never – the fluctuating whims of fall forever prey to fickle behavior and luckless decisions.
I have quite purposely and intentionally left out a fall entry song for the first post of the season – it will arrive later today – so as to allow the thoughts to expand without noise or music or harmony. The sounds of summer – those relentless cicadas, that crackle of fireworks, the giddy shouts of neighborhood children, that goddamn ice cream truck jingle – fade from hearing now. The sun shines quietly, and the only noise comes from the whoosh and whirl of a scarf, carried on the wind, and sounding like a librarian’s wearily repeated ‘shh, shh, shh’ shushing a group of kids who haven’t excised all memory of summer freedom just yet.
Summer’s second act couldn’t help but be better than its first, and so we continue on with our recap of the sunny season, which finally deigned to give some merit to its name. When it all began, I found inspiration in the Doris Day version of ‘Where the Boys Are’ – which, while filled with longing and a certain undertow of melancholy, carried Day’s hopeful earnestness into something lighter and more joyful. This summer proved that even amid the season of the sun, there could be rain and wind and darkness. As we grappled with all of that, this version of ‘Where the Boys Are’ seems a more fitting encapsulation of how we spent our summer. Visions of gatherings by the pool and a return to normal now feel worlds away, and maybe this is just the way us humans have got to cope from here on out. That didn’t mean we couldn’t find happiness and light of our own, and family and close friends saved this season more than any other.
Where the boys are, someone waits for me
A smiling face, a warm embrace, two arms to hold me tenderly
Where the boys are, my true love will be
He’s walking down some street in town and I know he’s looking there for me…
When August arrived, the sun remembered it was supposed to be shining, and the weather warmed up for a few stretches of high heat and humidity. Where I’d typically be complaining of the excess of such uncomfortable temps, by this point I all but got down on my knees and praised Jesus. Summer, though late and weary, showed at last, and I began daily dips in the pool to maximize the moments. Who knew how long it would last?
Let’s dwell, just for this opening/closing moment, on the positive and the upbeat, and begin this summer recap with a song by the Jonas Brothers, designed for the Summer Olympics, capturing the very best of what this summer should have, and could have, been: ebullient, celebratory, and glorious. Summer should catch the sun, throw it back to us, and engage in a volley that lasts until we are spent in happy exhaustion. It should splash about in the pool, squinting from too much sunlight and too much chlorine, leaving a memory that’s as hazy as it is wonderful, searing itself into the heart of every pleasure center. It should explode into bloom like some hybrid tea rose, spreading its perfume and shifting between shades of scarlet and fuchsia and pink as it ripens into something akin to the sunset.
USED TO PRAY FOR A MOMENT JUST LIKE THIS
THERE’S A FIRE IN YOUR EYES I CAN’T RESIST
BABY, WE’RE GONNA WANNA REMEMBER THIS
BABY, WE’RE GONNA WANNA REMEMBER THIS
Thats how summer should usually go. Not this year. Instead of that, we were largely still stuck inside, with COVID cases on the rise, and the Delta variant wreaking further destruction, all because a minority of selfish fucks refused to get vaccinated, wear masks, and rise to the most basic level of human fucking decency. Compounding that fuckery was the weather, which decided to absolutely shit on us now that our pool is fully functional and we might actually have something to do on a sunny day. All in all, the nastiness that was 2020 simply carried over into 2021, with the additional factor of sheer exhaustion from the awfulness of it all making it that much worse. Summer was supposed to be better than this. And so I’m hearing this song with a bit of ironic bitterness, and only a bit, because the things I’m about to describe were some of the happier moments of the season. While I’ve never been one to sit down and take note of happiness, this seems the best time to do so. We need some of it before the season officially retires. On with the summer show!
We got a jumpstart on the summer, knowing it would end all too quickly, and christened it with ‘Where the Boys Are’ – even if the only boys who would use our pool would be me and Andy and our nephew Noah.
Despite the wet weather, family formed the warm and glowing aspect if the sun failed to do so, and it was a season of re-connecting with those who matter the most. Here we celebrated Father’s Day, grateful for our Dad as his continued in his 90th year.
The Ilagan twins proved summer saviors, as spending time with them as they grew into their 11th year would be one of the highlights of the season, as previewed by this Saratoga movie trip.
WE AIN’T GETTING ANY YOUNGER, TO BE HONEST I DON’T CARE
I’M NOT TRYING TO LIVE FOREVER, I’M JUST TRYING TO BE RIGHT HERE
THIS I KNOW, ONLY NOW IT’S ALL WE GOT… THIS I KNOW…
ALL THE NIGHTS OF STRIKING MATCHES, JUST TRYING TO FIND A SPARK
COUNTING DOWN TO RAISING GLASSES, COUNTING UP TO BROKEN HEARTS
THIS I KNOW, YEAH THE COUNTING NEVER STOPS… THIS I KNOW
Summer comes to a close here tomorrow, with a pair of ambivalent summer recap posts that take us back through the summer that wasn’t. I hung onto it as best as I could, but at this point I’m ready to send it packing, and to begin fall with a clean slate of hope and promise and possibility.
Fall has also been the time to return to structure and organization – whether at school or work or simply in the first few cold snaps of morning frost, when we’re reminded that we need to be vigilant and on guard in a world that has gotten this mad.
Come back tomorrow for the summer recaps – it wasn’t all bad, but some saltiness seeped into my retelling of it, and since most people love when I let loose and get saucy, this is your chance to see such villainy on full display, even if I do my damnedest to bring you to a happy ending.
The final full week of summer is now behind us, and this week brings the arrival of fall. That means the time is ripe for drama, and with the VMAs and the Met Gala providing fodder and intrigue to finish off the summer, we certainly had some drama. As long as it remains of the fashion kind, I’m cool with it. When the warmth and the color drains from summer, and the world begins its turn to the brittle beauty of fall, we start all over again. But first, the last complete week of the supposed season of the sun.
These anemone blooms are a pale shade of pink, but I thought they worked better when drained of that subtle color to better appreciate the architecture of their branching and flower structure. It also signifies the way that summer’s color is gradually draining from the garden, in the way the fiery oranges and reds of its flaring height have settled into the softer shades of the sedum and anemones. There will be a few flames yet to be kindled, in the mum-fest and the warm shades of all the pumpkins and gourds to come, but the garden is largely quieting down.
Our patch of ostrich ferns, once vibrant and chartreuse and full, have shriveled to brown and spindly ghosts of their previous glory. The large stands of cup plants stand shorn of their bright yellow petals, with only the mostly-empty radials of the buds that once held all their seeds, long since picked off by our army of finches. The hydrangeas, while still throwing out a fresh flower head here and there, have also faded – the bright pink and purple mop heads slowly turning to mauve and gray and brown – still attractive, in a different, more subtle way.
This is the turn of the season, perfect for some Sunday morning musing when it’s time to face the incontrovertible end to summer this week. Fortunately, I have a few tricks up my sleeve to make the fall just as colorful as our summers tend to be…
The fig trees sent out their fruit early this summer, and then simply stalled while the hot weather they favor stalled and then utterly failed to arrive. That didn’t stop them entirely – only delayed their magnificence until this moment, when they suddenly started ripening all at once. I’ve been picking them off as I pass by, popping them into my mouth and enjoying their sweet goodness, as I’ve done with our cherry tomatoes.
They’ve been abundant enough to provide for an appetizer for our last family gathering – served with a drizzle of honey and some goat cheese, they made for a perfect starter, and I could point out to everyone exactly where they came from. We overwinter these in the garage – they’re hardy to one 5 but such fine specimens the produce so well don’t deserve the risk of overwintering them outside. Besides, it’s always a thrill to see them start putting forth early green growth in March when it’s still snowy and blowy outside. That sort of magic wouldn’t happen if they were left to fend for themselves against the ravages of a upstate New York winter.
