Loss and Nature

     It's been a rough year. The roughest part was losing our mother to a surprise illness, rather than helping her move to a retirement center, as planned. The “good” part was we had a final month to be with her. Still, you're never quite prepared for the loss. Then you're thrown into dealing with the estate, another journey without a clear map. It's confusing, exhausting, and hard on families, but can also bring them closer together.

     It's almost cliché but if there's ever a season that reminds you of the cycles of life, it's the one we're in: one foot in the overwhelming bounty of summer produce while dry leaves, morning chill and shorter days announce fall - the death of it all. You're especially aware of the change if you garden or spend a lot of time outdoors. I've spent far less time working outdoors this spring and summer. Fortunately, my husband more than took up the slack. But the pull is inevitable when you have big gardens and acres of property right outside your door. They're demanding and comforting at the same time. You're forced to get out and do physical work, which helps process the mental and emotional aspects of change and grief. And it reminds you that life marches on. Our parents lost their parents and our grandparents lost theirs, they lost children and siblings, all the way up the family tree to the highest branches – or is it deepest roots? Some of them likely found solace in nature too.

Breakfast in the Garden

     They say never go grocery shopping when you're hungry. You could say the same about harvesting your garden. But, why not? You'll never find fresher, more nutritious food than right off the vine or branch.

     I was harvesting raspberries the other morning, then discovered some overlooked plums, and just a

Wait! There's more on the tree

few feet away, shipovas (like small pears). We've never gotten much of a crop so usually half the harvest is consumed right in the garden. Yum!    Blueberries were a few short steps away; by now, only the smaller, intensely flavored ones remain. I even took the cover off to let the birds enjoy the last few too. Then, a red strawberry caught my eye. There's often a bonus smaller crop in fall – a nice farewell to the season

First crop of quince 

     Quince are weighing down their branches and the rhubarb is still producing – pretty amazing, given the recent heat. And that's just the fruit. There are plenty of vegetables to nosh on while harvesting. The super-rich couldn't possibly have better mornings.

     Though you can smell and see summer dying, a few things are just hitting their stride, such as the porcelain berry and scarlet runner beans that provide walls of shade that enclose our patio.

Porcelain berries are aptly named

They, too, will be gone in a flash, but for now they're crowding each other with lush vegetation and glorious color. The porcelain berry colors don't show up until the very end and are messy between flowers and berries, but their water-color pastels are worth the hassle and wait. During the summer they're a bee magnet and their wall comes alive with the hum of thousands of bees once the sun hits them. It's somehow comforting to hear so much hard work in progress.

     A big crop of figs nearby will absorb the last days of sun to store in their delicate fruits. Another all-too-brief crop.

    Last come the apples, just when we're exhausted from preserving everything else, like the last guest showing up after the party starts to wane. They were the first fruit trees we planted 35 years ago and wear the ravages of time, weather, pests and increasing shade as the fir trees nearby

grew taller. Each year, I think it might be their last hurrah, but (so far) they've come back with more than we can use every fall. Would that we all could be so hardy and productive in our golden years.