You had me at "blackberry balsamic vinegar." What a wonderful essay.
I agree -- part of the poignancy of this time of year is that, not only do the crops recede into memory, the conviviality of the markets also goes on hiatus.
This year, I'm determined to finally can some tomatoes before the crop completely disappears. I got all the way up to actually buying three cases of canning jars -- which is progress from years past -- but don't know how I'll find time to do the work of canning. Still, I SO want to "taste a little of the summer" that I'm motivated to learn.
I live on a farm now with a U-Pick apple and Asian-pear orchard. What a delight to see families come out with their children and have the young'uns go home with bags of heirloom apples they picked with their very own hands. Some of them had never seen fruit growing on a tree before!
And regarding the U-Scan operation -- occasionally I ignore my equally emphatic dislike and decide that just this once I'll scan my own stuff because I'm in such a hurry. EVERY SINGLE TIME something I scan makes the scanner freeze up and the dreaded "place and wait" message. It's an amazing coincidence. I think it's something in my aura ...
S.B.R. Loveland
· 1 year ago
This brought tears to my eyes. Thank you for your passion and for sharing it with us!
brittomart
· 1 year ago
Susan kindly recorded an excerpt of this blog entry for a community radio Garden Journal segment. This is the intro to Susan's lovely verbal essay.
We've had a lovely, long, golden autumn, a time of grace with skies so achingly blue they nearly fall outside the bounds of human sensory perception, like a whistle pitched for canine ears. But nothing gold can stay, as Frost – the poet not the temperature—said of another season. The zucchini plants, now a mildewed mockery of their lush summer selves, make way for the fall garlic planting. The radiant jumble of annual flowers have bloomed themselves to straw. Their summer soil becomes a bed to 50 hopeful daffodil bulbs. The end of summer is a fraught time. We gardeners move forward, but with a little hesitation, a little wistfullness, and a little righteous melancholy. But I’m done talking. Today, Denver Post garden writer, Susan Clotfelter, shares HER summer story. For the full story and some great garden photos, check out Susan's blog. Just google “Denver Post Digging In”
All Comments
I agree -- part of the poignancy of this time of year is that, not only do the crops recede into memory, the conviviality of the markets also goes on hiatus.
This year, I'm determined to finally can some tomatoes before the crop completely disappears. I got all the way up to actually buying three cases of canning jars -- which is progress from years past -- but don't know how I'll find time to do the work of canning. Still, I SO want to "taste a little of the summer" that I'm motivated to learn.
I live on a farm now with a U-Pick apple and Asian-pear orchard. What a delight to see families come out with their children and have the young'uns go home with bags of heirloom apples they picked with their very own hands. Some of them had never seen fruit growing on a tree before!
And regarding the U-Scan operation -- occasionally I ignore my equally emphatic dislike and decide that just this once I'll scan my own stuff because I'm in such a hurry. EVERY SINGLE TIME something I scan makes the scanner freeze up and the dreaded "place and wait" message. It's an amazing coincidence. I think it's something in my aura ...
We've had a lovely, long, golden autumn, a time of grace with skies so achingly blue they nearly fall outside the bounds of human sensory perception, like a whistle pitched for canine ears. But nothing gold can stay, as Frost – the poet not the temperature—said of another season. The zucchini plants, now a mildewed mockery of their lush summer selves, make way for the fall garlic planting. The radiant jumble of annual flowers have bloomed themselves to straw. Their summer soil becomes a bed to 50 hopeful daffodil bulbs. The end of summer is a fraught time. We gardeners move forward, but with a little hesitation, a little wistfullness, and a little righteous melancholy.
But I’m done talking. Today, Denver Post garden writer, Susan Clotfelter, shares HER summer story. For the full story and some great garden photos, check out Susan's blog. Just google “Denver Post Digging In”