My garden has survived the dry and sweltering summer - although some plants have made it through better than others. Most of my penstemons are dead. My roses have black spot. My Melia azedarach trees have declared defeat. Only a few straggly yellow leaves remain on their branches, where there were once thick, deep green balls of foliage. I'm sure the leaves will grow back in Spring, but I'm kicking myself for neglecting to water the trees at the height of summer. (Although, in my defence, I've noticed the oak trees in the public park down the road have also put on an early autumn display of colour. Not the usual rich yellows and bronzed tones, mind you. Their parched leaves are plain brown.)
But as autumn infiltrates my garden, it's not all bad. Salvia 'Indigo Spires' has again proved its worth. The plants are ragged but the luscious spires are still beautiful, mingling with the sky blue bog sage. Potted Rudbeckia 'Irish Eyes', underplanted with purple petunias, brighten the deck. In the vegetable garden, I'm pleased with the combination of single red dahlias, red peppers and strawberries. But my
back-of-the-border plan to have spiky artichokes didn't really come off this year. Only two flowered - although their iridescent thistle-like flowers were magnificent.
I admit I was starting to tire of summer, of its unrelenting humidity and of dragging the hose from the potager to the pond - and back - at least a hundred times. But it's still sad to farewell those sunny days. In the last week the weather has changed. It has rained for seven straight days. And while the lawn is again a gorgeous green, I have mixed feelings about autumn's arrival.
I really don't want my cherry trees to lose their leaves just yet. They were the first two trees we planted in our garden, right on the edge of the deck. They give privacy, shelter and solidity in what is still a relatively young garden. Sure, the spring blossoms are beautiful - but can't I kept the foliage just a little longer? Already, my legs ache from weeding, pruning, and the endless task of collecting fallen leaves. My head aches from the knowledge that come tomorrow, a whole barrow-load of new leaves will litter the lawn.
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