Turning of the Wheel
Late summer. Hot days, breezy nights—if we’re lucky. Even as we’re celebrating the fruits of the harvest—our glorious, ripe tomatoes, those massive zucchini squashes—we see signs of withering, of longer nights, of exhausted energy. Everything in my garden looks a little parched, a little fried, a little worn out. I don’t know about you, but for me this season is always one of change and a paradox of celebration and mourning. It’s easy to see signs of wear and tear, of life well lived.
Striped canna leaves are looking a trifle scorched, even though this plant is largely in the shade and it has been a mild summer.
My day lilies have bloomed their hearts out for three solid months. Now they’re anemic. Their last, valiant effort is to produce seed pods.
The hydrangeas are papery and drying. They make lovely dried flowers, but I usually cannot bear to cut them.
My coral-colored cannas are doing a fine job of producing seed pods …
… from which these shiny, black, pea-sized seeds can be gathered. I’m hoping to propagate some this way. I’ll have to do more research.
At the beginning of July, these seed “lanterns” from my goldenrain tree (Koelreuteria paniculata) were a vivid chartreuse. Now they’re crackly and bronze.
Rose hips are bulging in the sun. Few roses are braving the heat these days.
I’m mourning the loss of three more birch tress that are slowly dying, just as three others did last year. I love these trees. They were a gift from my mother and Ian and I planted them the first year we owned this house. For a long time they were the only landscaping we could afford to do. I’ve watched these trees grow, season after season, through my bedroom window. When Asher was a tiny baby and I was sick and then recovering in bed, I watched the white branches get their leaves, which fluttered in the breeze day after day. I love the way their late-afternoon shadows dance on my window and blinds. For now, the lower branches still have leaves and from my window they’re still beautiful. They are dying from the top down.
These photos aren’t the most beautiful. They don’t show the garden in its best possible light. But I like them anyway. Change happens and the best we can ever do is to embrace it and find the beauty in it.
August 20, 2010 at 9:46 pm
thank you…this time of year is such a melancholy time for me. I know that and handle and embrace it with care…usually after Michealmas I make a drastic turn. I whole-heartedly enter into the new, and start forming my winter cocoon.