Foggy morning

Foggy morning. The massive trees two blocks away, madrona, horse chestnut, Douglas fir, dissolve their edges in the mist, bleeding themselves into the liquid air.

I wanted to photograph my witch hazel from my upstairs front window, but expected the light would be too soft. The tree surprised me. Its citrus colors glow, acid in the syrupy air. I marvel and delight at the bounty of hues and vignettes my tiny front yard offers this morning, despite the fog. 

Witch Hazel

Each leaf of the witch hazel paints a different picture of transition, some nearly uniform orange, some grading from yellow edges into deeper and deeper tones, sinking red at the heart.

The saturated lilac mantel of tiny berries on the beauty bush (Callicarpa) contrasts with the Hinoki cypress’s bold evergreen-ness and, wispy thin whitish-green mounds of Carex ‘Frosty Curls’ that line the path beside the shrubs.

Callicarpa - Beauty Berry

Twin coniferous blue spires of Chamaecyparis ‘Blue Surprise’ frame a bright lemon marigold, still robust just days before All Hallows Eve. 

Chamaecyparis 'Blue Surprise' and Marigold

 

I have not yet had the heart to pull the annuals out of my pots, not while they are still blooming, even though their replacements are bursting in pot-bound anticipation. Soon. Soon.

When I was growing up in suburban New York, my mother would store our out-of-season clothes in a big cardboard box on a high shelf in her closet. As summer (or winter) drew to a close, I’d become bored with the wardrobe I'd been wearing all season and excited to get the big box down and see what old favorites still fit, and of course go shopping for new school clothes in the fall. There was a seasonal smell I can still remember, an intoxicating mix of new wool clothing, new leather shoes and fallen autumn leaves suspended in cool fall air.

Wintergreen with berries and Heuchera

I remembered about the big box and the twice-yearly wardrobe change recently as I contemplated the overgrown summer annuals in my pots, and surveyed the purple, chartreuse, and marmalade and rose-colored heucheras, evergreen grasses, and winter pansies awaiting planting. The annuals are still looking good, and most will until first frost, but I'm itching for a change, just like when I was a kid excited to wear my new fall skirts and sweaters.

Calluna 'Firefly', blue fescue and pansy

 

Cavorting Carrots

Never before has a vegetable so touched my heart.

I found among the mound of bunched carrots with their feathery tops a unique pair. And I do mean a pair. Two carrots in one bunch curled gently around each other, like sleeping lovers. 

Carrots sometimes grow in odd ways. In the presence of too much nitrogen, they fork and develop odd protrusions and protuberances, occasionally looking quite obscene. But these were smooth, neat, bright orange, healthy – they just twined around each other as they grew.

There I stood, in the produce aisle of my local natural foods market, my heart aching to be so embraced, and simultaneously feeling like a lunatic. I couldn’t possibly eat them. Vegetable empathy?

Of course I bought that bunch. And naturally, I photographed the carrot couple – from every angle – outdoors, on a bright blue plate. Autumn gentled the day, and the sun brushed the blue glaze with watery reflections.

Reviewing the photos shook my dreamy state a bit. Some looked more like someone in the grip of a boa constrictor. Others just looked like genes gone awry.  But a few did catch the twosome the way I first saw them – loving and sensuous. I knew I’d gotten the angle right when my heart went, “ohhhhh”.

Am I silly? Perhaps. But not as silly as my friend who suggested pickling the carrots to preserve them like an excised appendix or Einstein’s brain.

Winging it

I slipped out to the back garden on Sunday to take a breather from paperwork. Movement and a flash of vibrant blue on the ground in the shade under the broad Viburnum caught my eye.  About six feet from me, a Stellar’s Jay noted my presence, then hopped deeper into the shadow before winging up into the taller trees and away.

High-pitched trills and a tiny “tic, tic” caught my ear and pulled my eye to the opposite side of the garden. In the uppermost branches of my neighbor’s overbearing holly, an Anna’s hummingbird hovered then perched lightly on a twig. I’m enchanted by its green iridescence and ruby throat – a jewel with a heartbeat.

A sturdy stalk of Acanthus looks like a tower of birds all poised for takeoff.

Acanthus spinosa

The birds, the plants, even the air all seemed to be saying, “Yes, this is what really matters.” If I could just work in the garden, write and photograph, I would be content.