Am attempting to write in Scrivener, as opposed to directly onto the blog….no idea why I think this might be a better idea, but I had the notion and am deciding to roll with it. If nothing else, it means I can write without the constant worry of the internets wobbling and me, having forgotten to periodically save, losing everything I’ve written. This has happened more than a few times. It also occurs to me that I might be less likely to self-censor when not surrounded by the accoutrements of the rather alarming public space that is The Internets.
It’s been a week now, since the last hummingbird visited the feeder outside my study window. The week before that, the swallows left. I used to see them every morning as I walked the Emma-dog, gathering on the deer fence, then suddenly they weren’t there anymore. The robins are gone, as are the eastern phoebes; the jays and crows are hanging about more, as are the mourning doves. Just like that, the seasonal switch-over of the populace beings.
In the plant world, the soybeans are yellowing and there’s a steady rustle of leaves falling from the whiskery old ash; there are some burning reds on a few maples and the hedgerows are heavy with berries and resplendent in the gold and purple and white of goldenrod and asters. The farmers have managed a third cut of hay - in September, no less! - and although the sweet corn is just about finished, the cow-corn is still towering in the fields, where it’ll stay until at least November.
It would all be delightfully autumnal if not for the sweltering temperatures — a ‘feels like’ of 33C here today. It’s odd and disconcerting, to say the least and has rather knocked me off my usual autumn routines.
As such, I haven’t taken the hummingbird feeder down, although I really ought to as it’s attracting wasps and that’s definitely something I don’t wish to encourage. It’s too soon to start filling the other bird-feeders. I stop for the summer as it’s mostly squirrels and grackles raiding the spoils as there’s plentiful wild food for my bird friends hereabouts — this is a schedule that the birds themselves dictate so I don’t feel miserly about not laying grub on all summer. I’ve been buying three loafs of suet every time I go to the feed store (okay, every time I send B to the feed store) and stockpiling it in the freezer for the months ahead.
I’ve done a bit of garden tidying — but it’s too soon to do anything major as everything is still humming away and there’s no wisdom in putting the garden to bed just because the calendar says we should. Here’s something: I fail to see the point of pulling up perfectly bloomy flowers just to replace them with ‘fall flowers’ so I’ve never quite managed to reconcile myself to buying big pots of ‘mums, even though they are gorgeous and look Very Instagram when festooned with pumpkins and dried cornstalks. Every year I say I’ll get some (because they really are very lovely) and every year I don’t bother (because I’m really very cheap and let’s face it, I’d rather put the money towards more roses for next spring. ;).
Mostly though — everything feels like it’s in a holding pattern…just waiting for the weather to behave appropriately instead of all this larking about with extended summer heat.
Brace yourself, Dear Reader, any day now I’ll start complaining about the lack of rain.
ps. can report that I've enjoyed writing not-onto-the-blog...shall, in all likelihood, continue.