The forecast is for 28° tonight. If this was going to be an isolated incidence, I would probably dash out with an armful of sheets and cover my garden but it would only be a futile attempt at prolonging the inevitable. It IS October after all and I should revel in the fact that I’ve eaten fresh tomatoes this long. That we just picked beans. That there are still blossoms on the cucumber plants. It’s times like this that I have to remind myself that I live in Boise for multiple reasons – one of which is that it has four distinct seasons. As I rode my bike to work this morning, in the semi-dark, there was definitely a new crispness to the air. As I rode home this afternoon, I noticed that the leaves are starting to turn from green to golden in earnest now, crunching under my fat bike tires.
The garden is tired. It’s ready for a change of season. Ready for the vines and plants to be cut back and put in the compost bin after removing the mature compost, the humus, to be returned to the garden. The circle of life. The circle of the seasons.
I try to console myself by breaking out my sweaters, and scarves, and boots. A new wardrobe after months of shorts, and tank tops, and flips flops.
Oh flip flops… how I will maybe miss you the most.
Soon our kitchen will take on its fall look as well – replacing fresh watermelon, tomatoes and grilled fish with pears, squash and meats that cook long and slow all day filling the house with warm smells. The freezer is stocked with marinara and if I’m lucky, I’ll score some of the bounties of the canning my friends have been doing.
It’s not that I don’t like fall. I really do… it’s just that sometimes summer is a hard act to follow with long days filled with sunlight, splashing in the swimming pool and crisp white wines on the patio. But with fall comes snuggling in front of the fireplace, steamy mornings in the hot tub with a cup of coffee and glasses of big, bold red wine. That doesn’t sound so bad after all.