Putting the garden to bed-Day #2 of Thanksgiving

Today I'm thankful for having the means and health to garden this summer. 

Gardening is an activity that fuels my passion for life.  

I feel refreshed and energized every time I get to do it.

But in fall there comes a time when I must put the garden to bed,
i.e., pull out the annuals, trim down the perennials, and clean the beds before frost makes it's seasonal appearance.

However, on a recent morning, I glanced out through my kitchen sliding door and saw fall sunlight kissing the last of the zinnias and lobelias on the deck...
 

...and I made up my mind: 

I'm not putting my garden to bed just yet.

With a certifiable procrastinator's rationale, 

I said to myself,  
"Look how bravely those flowers are reaching for the bright fall sun!

Probably a posse from my garden club will show up toute suite and bury me in a worm bin for the winter

if I r-r-rip up those lovelies and toss 'em in the yard debris bin

today!"

All I could do was grab my camera and capture the last of summer's glory around my home. 

It's so great to be a procrastinator have an artist's spontaneity!

Here, out in the bed by the street are more zinnias...

and more...

And this little beauty!  She's so vain.

She prob'ly thinks this post is about her.
(Name that song from the 70's.) 

Wearing a tutu and a crown

like she's a bloomin'  extra in

the Nutcracker.

And just look at those aster groupies behind her.

Look at this show-off. 

She's nearly as big as my hand. 

And that color just makes me swoon!

Cast an eye on these ruby orbs.

If I figured how much it cost me to grow them,

they're probably worth 7 bucks a pound.

All summer we gardeners have been whining about

the cool summer days and nights.

"Do you have tomatoes yet?"

"Me neither."

And then I waited too long to harvest some that ripened!

But these are destined for greatness!

I made a killer sauce with 'em, sans the lemon cucumber.

See you next summer, Miss Alyssum.

It was nice to know you, Mr. Nasturtium.

And here's the last of my clematis for this year.

She's grown at the corner of our home for 15 years.

Fall light strreaming through the dogwood.



Better grab these lemon cukes before the frost gets 'em

Come to mama.


I'd never had this color of cosmos.  Planted them from seed.

 I planted sweet peas for the first time the May before my first child was born, 30 years ago.  I thought my baby would love to smell them, so I planted them under her window.  On her wedding day 7 years ago, my girlfriend went to Pike Place Market in Seattle, bought her a whole bouquet of them, and gave them to her just before she put on her wedding dress. 

You can't buy memories like that. 

You can plant them, though. 

What a brave soul this gladiola is.  I don't think the fall sun reaches her any more, but she fulfilled her desiny by blooming anyway.

You do not see the chain link fence.  It is a figment of your imagination.

It's hard to beat perennial fuschias.  They bloom profusely for about 4 months.

And the groupie asters?  They make excellent cut flowers.  A few of them came inside to delight us for nearly 10 days!  

The pumpkin is another gift from the friend who bought our daughter

sweet peas on her wedding day.

This is what the words say:

As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.
Joshua 24:15

Thank You, God, for making flowers and veggies!

Then God said, "Let the land produce vegetation:  seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds."

And it was so...

And God saw that it was good.

Genesis 1:11, 12

Grace to you, my friend.

Love, Karen