Category Archives: Autumn 2020

October Waning

Marigolds; Fall 2020

There are so many things happening right now. I am excited and anxious about the election, but friends in the Midwest are seeing major snows earlier than anticipated and wildfires, beyond biblical proportions, are ravaging the West. To the South, and nearer to me, Zeta percolates in the Gulf.

And then there’s COVID. I don’t really have the “fatigue”; I have just run out of things to say. As I said, I am excited and anxious about the election.

A day or two ago, I made my annual reservation for my December getaway in Point Clear on the eastern shore of Mobile Bay.

I asked my usual contact, “How’s it going down there?”

“I’ll let you know when Zeta has passed,” she responded.

My regular room choice is closed post-Sally, awaiting carpet replacement, but I managed to snag an almost identical room still available for the Christmas season.

My checkbook howls, but my spirit soars. December in Point Clear has become an annual rite of renewal.’


In the long list of things to ponder, a last look at the season now coming to a close has captured my wandering attention,

The indoor plants were moved indoors a few weeks ago and the outdoor annuals were committed back to the earth. A peace lily, that had been given up for lost in the summer, decided to sprout a week ago and I am trying to coax it along. Most of what was left, though, was left to fend for itself. I thought I had washed my hands of it all except for the raking and maintenance of the debris.

Over the past week, all of that was turned asunder.


I returned home to find a single gardenia in full bloom. My potted gardenia is temperamental in the best of times and never blooms beyond early summer, so I still ponder what inspired its late-October solitary flourish. Even so, the silky sexiness of a gardenia is hard to beat.

My Granddaddy Harbison’s heirloom rose, which has to be at least a half-century old and is now spread over gardens across the South, had a final burst of blossoms that are both spectacular and later than ever.

A couple of months ago, only the forget-me-nots had flowered from several packets of seeds sent to my mother with a charity solicitation in the Spring. When I got home a few days ago, the marigolds from that same set of packets had decided to take their turn. Those few blooms epitomize the shades of Autumn without the aid of the more predictable chrysanthemums.

It is truly time to cut back the purple hearts that thrive next to the front door. This late-October, however, they are far too exuberant to thwart just yet, and I will encourage them to bloom as long as they like.

We have frosts in our forecasts, so this might be the final homage to the warm weather culture for a while.

Please, whatever you do, VOTE on November 3. Every vote matters.

 

The Promise of Cardinals

The remnants of tropical storm Beta moved through my part of the world recently, with steady rains most of the day. It intrigues me how often the weather seems to take its cues from the calendar and, on these first days after the official start of Autumn, the weather suddenly has the unmistakable signs of the new season.

The next morning, I awoke to the storm’s final mists. Looking out a back window, down the mountain into the forest beyond the fence, fog was creeping slowly through the trees from the direction of Shades Creek in the valley.

Two pairs of cardinals were perched on the fence – two females in their prim ashes of roses feathers and two males, pluming themselves in bold Vatican red. They soon scattered, moving back and forth from the forest to the yard to the fence and back again.

One pair of cardinals moved to the branches of the stately rose of Sharon which seems to have finished its flowering for the year. My eyes were drawn upward by the steady hum of a hummingbird in the top of the rose of Sharon, searching, I suppose, for a few more drops of nectar from the fading purple blooms before that tree bids farewell to 2020 (something we’re all eager to do, I suspect).

Later, a couple of hummingbirds began to jockey for position at the feeder by the kitchen window; mourning doves converged on birdseed at the back fence. Soon the mist was gone, the fog had lifted, birds and bird song filled the sunny yard and the woods beyond, and Mother’s curious dog Lulu kept watch over it all.

The flower garden is having its final hurrah, and butterflies flew among the red roses, yellow lantana, and purple heart. One multi-colored butterfly kept coming back and catching my eye. I realized that it had a damaged wing, but that could not detract from its graceful ballet among the blooms. Another butterfly, almost exactly the color of the lantana blooms, was almost missed – blending in perfectly with the flowers.

That morning I forgot, for a brief while, all of the bad things that are going on in the world, the scary fascist running for re-election, and my dread of cold weather and short days. At the beginning of Spring 2020, as the gravity of this pandemic was taking hold, I wrote an essay called “The Panic of Cardinals” about a pair of cardinals trying to escape from their entrapment on the top floor of the conference center in Louisville.

I’ve decided to interpret my early Autumn sighting of four cardinals sitting on the back fence – and the glorious day they ushered in – as the promise of brighter and more positive days to come.