It's Almost Here

Step outside. A slow deep inhalation while closing ones eyes, tells me it's here. Not only do you smell it, but you can feel... fall is in the air, and a welcoming time of year for me.

August was the usual warm month in the Pacific northwest, and happily we had a few days with some rain, but our standard fare is generally hot and dry. In years past we have gone as long as three months without a drop of rain in the summer, so an occasional bit of moisture is an absolute welcome, and because of this climate, our garden has been transformed over the years from 'oh, let's plant this beautiful specimen' to 'how drought tolerant is this one?' (An interesting factoid from the weather.gov site of historical local climate data shows that in 1939 the temperature in mid September was a high of 91 and a 53 degree low. Sixty-eight years ago, it was about the same. Hmm.)

Daytime temperatures hit 90 just the other day and 50 for the nightly low, a 40 point differential, which is normal. Thankfully we have had some overcast days this past week, allowing our summer sun-stressed garden to enjoy a bit of a respite. And despite no watering on our part for several weeks, the plants look pretty dang good this evening.

As we walk along the garden paths, the Cupressus sempervirens 'Swane's Golden' puts on its best display with this evenings light.




Remember when I wrote about the dogwood on June 29? Seems it just won't quit. Even as the berries have formed throughout the tree, we still have some blossoms appearing.

The Datura flourishes on a gravel path, and the beauty of this no water required species stops me in my tracks as I explore the remarkable green throat within the beautiful and distinctive trumpet shaped blossom...


and the delicate flowers of Nicotiana sylvestris await at the paths end and point us back into the garden proper once again, where the electric color of the Fuchia presents itself so eloquently in the coolness of the shade.













This evening bids us adieu as we look out over the valley, and we are filled with thoughts of a wonderful day, a pleasurable experience of which we are proud to have been a part, and thankfulness... for we are blessed.

Kiss-Me-Over-The-Garden-Gate

Persicaria orientale (aka Polygonum orientale) or the more delightful name of Kiss-Me-Over-The-Garden-Gate appears in our garden after having been absent for several years.

I have read that these were grown by Thomas Jefferson in his garden at Monticello. An annual and an old-fashioned heirloom seed, I thought it would be fun to have them as part of the English cottage style section of our garden, so I purchased a packet of seeds years ago.

They grew, self seeded, and then for several years only an occasional one would yield a tiny version. But this year they stand a proud 6 feet tall at the edge of the patio and path, a place where no one ever planted the seed, and we must bend as we go around this fun specimen in nature.

The brightly colored magenta catkins dangle and bounce freely with the breeze, nodding and arching and touching like two young lovers sneaking a kiss over-the-garden-gate.

It brings a smile and a sense of wonderment to consider what brought it to this place. And how could I say it cannot be here?

Outside My Studio Window

While working at my computer, this weekend morning is as most. I scan the headlines, read that which is of interest and then I may bring up a blank Word sheet and begin to type as I do now.

The quiet atop this hillside offers an opportunity for uninterrupted projects and wonderful moments of meditation and silent introspection. Thoughts tend to flow more freely here, and while trying to compose those, I generally glance out one of the windows and rather than think of all these trees and plants which we placed in the ground, one by one over the course of some thirteen years, I am mindful of what is before me while thoughts continue in the direction of the writing.

The breeze gracefully lifts the lower lying branches of the Tri-colored beech, which circulate the space within its reach, then gently lays them back into position. Suddenly the Steller's Jays (the west's cousin to the Blue Jay) glide playfully from tree to tree announcing their station with that cacophonous "bark", and occasionally one will appear at the gutter above my window and give it a peck or two, as if to alert me back to work. Almost as quickly as these arrive, they depart. And there is silence once again.

Lo and behold! From nowhere appears this unexpected visitor, a giant monster eerily scaling, peering, appearing up over the towering 100 foot Douglas Fir trees and is heading towards our house! "Hurry, come quickly", I yelled to my husband, for I was uncertain as what difficulty may lay ahead. Had they gotten off course? Were they in trouble? Grab the camera, remove the screen, open the window and snap!

In a matter of moments my fear was allayed. As I ran to the deck, I realized this was a unique opportunity, a Kodak moment, for I saw the giant monster being gently ushered away from the house and garden ...


and was just in time to turn back around into the early morning light to see another approaching.
How quickly it slid above me. I imagined how perfectly the complementary colors of blue and yellow were mixed on the sky's palette to yield the balloon's green stripe.


All was silent until the whoosssh of the ignited gas sent warmth into the balloon. The air became calmer as we stood and watched the sun caress the morning tree tops and the two visitors hover calmly, balancing the framed sky and allowing its passengers one last glimpse of the valley and coastal range prior to their descent.


What a magnificent way to start a day, and I just happened to be "thinking" outside my studio window. Isn't the unexpected wonderful?