Tag Archives: Southern gardening

The Promise of Cardinals

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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.

Waning October

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Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading Proust. Or maybe it’s because I watched part of a Bob Ross marathon on public television over the weekend. Maybe it’s because I heard Prince’s “When Doves Cry” night before last. Whatever it is, as I began to winterize my back yard yesterday, I found myself more attuned than usual to detail and the melancholy of changing seasons.

October was more manic than usual in this Tennessee River Valley region of north Alabama. There were drought-like conditions for a while, accompanied by record-breaking heat. Now the weather is more seasonal, but there is minimal fall color on local foliage. This will be a year when it rains, leaves turn brown, wind comes, and leaves blow down.

I have watched the weather closely, wanting to keep house plants outside as long as possible before moving them indoors. With a first freeze forecast for this weekend, I decided it was time to pull the trigger and move things in.

Only a few things needed to be brought inside this year. The ponytail palm I have kept for twenty years still resides snugly in the concrete pot inherited from my grandfather. A philodendron, remaining from a memorial arrangement of plants sent to my father’s funeral, is being tricky; a few months outdoors seemed to be reviving the plant to its former glory but it has dwindled again. It’s hoped that a few months being pampered in a sunny spot just inside the back door will revive it.

The braided ficus now hovers over the philodendron, standing again in its cold weather spot welcoming anyone entering through the back door. It will probably shed leaves for a while due to the shock of being moved from outdoors to inside – a distance of perhaps eight feet – but it always recovers quickly, brightening up the indoors during the drearier months.

An unexpected import to my library was a container full of basil that has spent the warm weather just outside the back door. I usually allow nature to take its course with the backyard container herbs but the basil is still so healthy that it was moved in, taking a spot in a back window. It’s on the table where I like to eat my summer tomato sandwiches, dressed with basil from those same plants. I’m challenged to see how long into the chilly season I can keep home-grown fresh basil and pesto.

Most of the outdoor plants that will remain outdoors seem oblivious to the encroaching cold. My grandfather’s wild rose, planted along the back walk, has taken advantage of the milder weather to sprout a whole new bunch of blooms and buds. Based on weather forecasts, those may be gone by this time next week. The hydrangea is beginning to retreat. For several years now it has refused to bloom. Every year at this time I vow to do the needed soil amendments to help it flower again next year and every year at this time I regret putting it off for another year.

The redbud, which had such an impressive growth spurt over the summer, has already dropped all but two of its heart-shaped leaves. Based on the success of the little tree this year, I am finally confident that it will survive to flourish next year. Meanwhile, the camellia seems healthy and strong and should be showing crimson blooms within the weeks to come. A fragrant tea olive, planted outside the back gate, is putting on a final fall show of delicate white blossoms.

There was no time to pursue many of my desired garden goals this year, but the one I committed to was nurturing a pot-grown wild rose at my back gate (opposite the tea olive). Over the years, I have tried to train a flowering plant to climb over my back fence and gate. Jasmine never took the hint, but this wild rose, which has become a fast-growing and wildly prolific mainstay at the back gate, is taking well to being trained. It doesn’t look like much now, but I look forward to the two or three weeks in early spring when it blossoms and creates a sweetly fragrant welcome when I arrive home.

Even as the yard is made ready for cooler weather, I make mental notes of changes and improvements to be made come spring. These thoughts of next year propel me forward to face the long nights and dreary cold days ahead.