Late August...

It seemed to me that our August heat wave was pretty long-lived. It’s one thing to have hot sunny days, and quite another to have hot smoky days. It gets eerie finally. So I was glad to have rain, though at .17” it was nothing more than a dust settler -- still, a welcome dust settler. And to now have the skies clear and blue and the mountains in view…well, it’s invigorating! Once again, I am a little sad to see summer weather go. Quite a contrast from a week ago when I was wishing for the wet, cool days of Fall.

Fickle me…

School starts today for some in our town, and the smell of late summer is in the air. You can smell the drying, dying plants, the sweet fragrance of corn tassels.  Fog in the mornings, cool overnight (42 when I got up this morning!). Dust puffs around our feet as we walk in the field, and I know that soon, the rains will come and the dust will be gone for many, many months.

I’m ready, and I’m not. Isn’t it always this way at the change of season? Good recollections of the events of the season, a bit of wishing for more. The sun is setting early, it already seems, and the evenings around the fire watching the moon rise are a bit nippy. Time to put the pool away; no need for heat relief any longer. No one swims in September, no matter the weather, I’ve found.

My flower baskets have grown full, but are no longer lush, having used all their resources, root-bound. I’ll enjoy them a little longer, but some are already destined for the compost pile. Time to look for mums.

There are boxes of peaches in the garage, ripening to optimum sweetness for canning. Four little pints of beans stand on the kitchen counter, the first of my canning for the season. My two little rows of haricot verts are just beginning to produce. I planted them very late in June, mostly due to busy-ness, and procrastination – and maybe just to try to prove that whenever you plant beans they will be ready to can during the Fair…a theory I have held as truth for many years. So annoying! However, disproved, as it is two weeks after the Fair and they are just now ready. The next pick will be heavy, and I will put away a good number of pints to hoard and carefully dispense through the winter. Too bad they taste so good…I’d rather not grow or can them. Again, fickle me.

I am grateful for the slow, almost groggy, last hot days of summer. After weeks of adrenaline rush during harvest, I need that contrast to be rested. When September turns, I’ll be ready for the refreshment of a new season and will be excited to button things up for the inside months…of knitting and reading, and football, baking and cooking, and holiday preparation.

God is gracious to give us seasons.