Autumn Photos

It is a challenge to write indoors when there is such beauty and change happening outdoors.  The world is mulching itself.  Colour and crunch and crispy days.  Hammocks which until recently held the drowsy days of summer are filling with drifting leaves.  Soon there will be stacks and stacks of dry leaves, raked and ready for children to jump and scream and play.

It is energizing to be outside, to write appreciating the last sheltered warm spots in the sun.  Soon enough the earth will be resting, trees bare, and the snow, which surprised us on Sunday, will no longer quickly melt away with a morning's warmth.  Best not to dwell on that, better to pause and enjoy the shorter balmy days and the gaudy, visual feast. 

Pause and breathe the mossy scents of autumn, hear the crunch of dry leaves as squirrels dart about gathering winter's store,  see the bright colours turning brown, wrapping the earth, taste the seasonal freshness of ripe apples, leeks, parsnips and cabbage, feel the dampness of the cool autumn air, cradle the firm, dry bulbs of daffodils and tulips while planting them in the chilled earth; enjoy it all.

Enjoy this autumn!

Memories of My Visit

Memories of My Visit

It’s Sunday, sunny with a chill wind.  The only way I can be comfortable sitting outside is to find a sheltered spot in direct sunlight.  Nearby a hefty grey squirrel seems to be thinking the same thing.  He munches on his pine cone aware that I am here but apparently unafraid, as we share this pool of sunshine.  He knows he can run faster than I, escape, if need be.

Sitting on a wooden storage box on the front porch, I'm looking across the street at a modern, creamy yellow house.  It appears to have been built to mimic the stateliness of this home.  The new house doesn’t work and looks oddly out-of-place in this older neighbourhood of Port Washington.  There is something solid, comforting, time worn about this 1896 house that nothing newer can duplicate. 

The cement porch hugs two sides of this massive home, providing shelter and welcome; for me, a secluded place in which to write. The grey squirrel runs off after finishing his cone, to find another or to chase the chipmunk that chatters and scolds in the side yard.  A scent of pine balsam carries on the mounting breeze.

The Port Washington area of Long Island, New York is farther south than where I live in New Brunswick, Canada.  Consequently here, the vegetation is still lush and green belying the cooler breezes and chillier nights that approach and have already touched our trees at home with sizzling colours.

My hooded sweatshirt isn’t cutting the cold from the stiffening wind so I will have to move soon.  The wind blows through me, picking and tossing stray leaves, shed from the tender shrubbery.  I need to shift to a warmer seat, seek somewhere more protected than this wooden box on the porch.

This early Sunday morning is peaceful, quiet, except for the rising wind rustling through the five-story maples that surround this house, breathing through the pines with sighs like waves on sand.  At first totally embraced by sun, now only my legs are warm.  I can feel heat on my jeans, warmth on my shoes.  But the wind carries thoughts of ice and my sunlit pool is shrinking.

A thin woman, in a tiny black tank top and matching spandex shorts, jogs by the front of the house; her dog is the same crinkly blond colour as her hair.  The pat, pat of her sneakers keeps time with the clack, clack of her dog’s toenails on the pavement.  I shiver as I watch her.

Yes, running is one way to keep warm.  But I want to write, so I am up now, searching for another sheltered spot of autumn sunlight, in which to further enjoy the last of summer, in this magical old house.

All photos are mine unless otherwise noted.

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Autumn Outdoors

Each day I notice more signs of autumn.

The temperature changes are dramatic.  Being outdoors means constant movement; to stay warm requires staying in the sunlight.  I continuously move the position of my chair.  If I'm outside writing or gardening, I follow the sun.

Fall changes are stunning. The deep wine shade of the fruit cones on the staghorn sumac indicates that they are nearly ripe.

As their leaves turn yellow, the hard green grapes have become powdery purple on the grapevines.

Soon enough, a grey squirrel or starling or pheasant will feast on nature's bounty.

Fuzzy flowerbuds are forming on the Saucer Magnolia, in preparation for next spring's blooms.

Because it is a tender tree in the Maritimes, we will wrap it to protect the stems and buds from the worst of winter.

It is the time of year to transplant ferns and lilies and hostas.  Lots of digging and hands in the soil.

Once that is finished, perhaps my fingernails will grow longer and lose their stains.  My fingertips are rough and ragged.  My skin is scratched and ripped from working with roses and barberry bushes.  Gardening is so hard on my hands.



Can you see the squirrel
on the fence?



I do love this season of changes.  There is nothing to compare with sitting on the porch on a cloudless autumn afternoon, sharing a glass of wine and conversation with a dear friend

and simply enjoying the yard.

All photos are mine.