Pause

September is my favourite month. For me September is all about warm fleece on cool mornings, sunny afternoons that are a gift instead of a given, and the collective deep breath that comes as things slow down in the perennial garden. The demands of spring and summer have been met (or not) and the massive job of the fall clean up is still a month or two away. This is a time for sitting on the porch swing, enjoying some quiet and appreciating the beauty of the garden that is.

Much of the garden is showing its age, crispy and dry after the heat of the summer, or showing the effects of damage by pests. But there's still some colour to be found. The asters are just beginning to flower...



... and at the other end of their life cycle, the very last of the hosta flowers are hanging on for a few more days.



The wild and crazy dianthus is making a second showing...



... while the butterly weed I planted from seed this year is making its first bright orange showing.



The red valerian wins the longevity prize - it has been flowering non-stop since May, and shows no sign of calling it quits.

The fuschia, which for much of the year is so straggly I am always tempted to take it out, is looking like something from a Japanese block print. A graceful, gentle rebuke. 

I'll be taking a pause for the next month or so. Until I get back I wish you warm days, cool nights, and someone you love to share them with.

Berries

It's pouring today.

What else is new?

But I have found a bit of brightness and beauty: berries!

Snow berries and holly berries.

The berry-like non-berries that are really crocosmia seed pods.

The berries from the mystery shrub (could it be a kind of dogwood?) that looked like this just a short while ago...

...and after two nights of hard frost now look like this.

When I think of "berries" and "Mucky Boots" simultaneously what comes to mind are all the edible berries we grow: strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, gooseberries, red currants, blackberries, huckleberries, Saskatoon berries. They're lovely, but they're long gone, and their memory (and even their jam) isn't enough to brighten a day like today. So it's nice to know their non-edible cousins have got this late season covered.

That's why they call it a big leaf maple

Big leaf: check. Maple: check. They got this one right.

Big leaf maples are generally considered to be junk trees, at least around here. Not good for much, with a talent for volunteering themselves to grow wherever the heck they want (which is usually where you would prefer they didn't).

But there are a few folks in our neighbourhood who tap their big leaf maples like our eastern cousins do sugar maples. The resulting syrup isn't the same - my one taste of it made me think of molasses, rather than maple syrup - but still, how cool is that? It might be a good project for the winter months when not much else is happening on the home front.

The fine art of Hosta Clean Up

We have an awful lot of hostas here at Mucky Boots. Many different shades of green, several different colours of flower, in every size from small to huge. They like the damp spring and fall, they tolerate the dry heat of the summer, and they're forgiving of wildly fluctuating light levels as the sun and shade-giving trees go through their seasonal patterns.

They're a workhorse of the perennial garden - they don't require fussing or attention, and once they're established they do a pretty good job of keeping my arch-nemesis the creeping bellflower in check. They really only require input from me twice a year: in the spring, when they get divided, and in the late fall, when they get cleaned up.

And since we have so many hostas, and since I have now cleaned them all up five falls in a row, I have learned an important fact about Hosta Clean Up: timing is everything.

If you attempt Clean Up too soon, you have to work your clippers through dense stands of stems. Especially if my arthritis is acting up, it doesn't take long before my hands start to cramp. On the other hand, if you wait too long, the foliage will have disintegrated into a mass of slime that makes Clean Up a wet mess.

But if you time it just right, it's a breeze. If your timing is perfect, all you will need to do is run your hand through the limp, floppy dead leaves...



...and they will pull away from the roots with virtually no effort on your part...



 leaving only the spent flower stems to cut down.



The only potential downside is that the dry flower stems are very tough and stick-like, and if you're not paying attention you could poke yourself in the eye bending down to get the last few bits. (Does it sound like I am speaking from experience?)

There. That's my little contribution to making the world of hostas a better place.

I love my wheelbarrow

Of all the tools I use in the garden, this wheelbarrow is my favourite. I appreciate my other tools, for the ways they help me do my work, but I feel affection for this wheelbarrow. Not our plain metal barrow, or the heavy black one that we use to haul rocks, but this light, agile plastic green one. Somehow just seeing this wheelbarrow in the garden makes me happy.

I love its colours: green bucket and orange wheel. Throw in a blue-handled shovel and you have enough colour to brighten a gloomy October day. I love its graceful and simple lines - there's nothing bulky or awkward about it. And it's the perfect size and weight for me. Any bigger and I would end up pushing a load too heavy for my joints. This wheelbarrow keeps me in check, in a good way.

This wheelbarrow has seen me through four massive fall clean-ups of the perennial gardens, and is about to see me through number five. It's my partner in clean-up. When the job is finished this wheelbarrow and I will survey the garden we have put to rest for the winter and feel satisfaction in the job we have done together.

I love my wheelbarrow.

Gossamer

If you're not tired of fall colours and the beauty of decay, here are two more photos for you, of a nameless scrubby shrub growing in the wilds at the front of our property. Judging by their ethereal state, especially compared to the foliage around them, I think these leaves might actually be from last year, somehow surviving through the winter thanks to the protection of the large trees overhanging them.

Click on the photos to see larger versions, so you can really appreciate the lacy beauty of these ghost leaves.



I'll be away for the next little while - I'm off the Calgary to visit family and attend parts of this. Until I see you again, stay warm and dry!

The colours of fall

For a recovering perfectionist, I think it's sort of remarkable that I love a garden in the fall as much as I do. After all, autumn gardens are full of falling over, turning brown, self-denuding plants.

There are still splashes of colour, like the rudbeckia and the asters, which bloomed just in time for the Big Party. (How did they know?)

The hydrangea are still going strong...



...as are the gallardia that I grew from seed this year.



But even the plants that have officially called it quits and are dancing slowly into wilt and decay have their own beauty, like the dogwood.

And the peonies! Compared to how this plant looked in June this may seem like nothing much, but as much as peonies are my favourite flower in the garden, I find I am pausing much longer to admire the beauty of the foliage in its last weeks of life.

It's awfully tempting to draw a parallel between my feelings about the fall garden and about turning fifty. But cliche or not, there's something to it. From this perspective, the June garden, as fresh and glorious as it may be, seems to shout "Look at me! Look at me!", which seems a little tedious from here. On the other hand, the autumn garden is full of plants that have a different kind of splendour - less show, more dignity. A kind of beauty that factors in the places the bugs have nibbled, the edges that have become crispy, the spots that are bare, and through the calculation that is life, comes to an answer even more precious than short-lived June blossoms.

My garden continues to teach me, and I am listening hard.

Dry

We haven't had any significant rain for months. People think of southern Vancouver Island as being wet, wet, wet, and it is (usually) through the winter. But our summers are traditionally hot and dry, and this particular summer doesn't seem to be ending when it comes to the "dry" part.

It has been so dry people are worrying about the state of their wells and aquifers, and some communities that haven't ever been to Stage 3 water restrictions are now on Stage 4, which means no outdoor watering of any kind for any reason. It has been so dry there are concerns that our local river, the Cowichan River, doesn't have enough water for the returning salmon to make it upstream for spawning, so volunteers are hand-carrying salmon in crates up the river.

But now - now there is this.

(Thanks, www.weathernetwork.com.)

If you can't quite read it, don't worry, The important part is the row of weather symbols along the top. Can you see it? Rain! Three days of rain, beginning on Friday.

Of course forecasts and reality are sometimes different things, but the regular appearance of the rain icon over the next fourteen days is giving me hope. I'll let you know what happens.

Now I just have to find my umbrella.

Jam, jam, jam

The windows are a bit steamy these days thanks to all the canning that has been going on, starting with a wheelbarrow full of Cox Orange Pippin apples and 20 pounds of crab apples from the trees here at Mucky Boots.

And then there were those 45 pounds of Italian plums courtesy of my dad's plum tree.



Yes, you read that right: 45 pounds. Last week we spent an afternoon picking them and then two days making plum butter and a couple of kinds of plum jam. Kim, bless her heart, split and pitted somewhere between 850 and 900 plums, and together we cooked and mashed and stirred and processed, and now we have 50 half-pints of plummy sweetness filling the shelves in our cold storage room.



The crab apples have been made into juice, which has been canned until either I have time to make it into jelly or we drink it (which, since it is unsweetened, should send the Tart Meter into the red zone).

We have only just begun on the apples: one big bucket-full has given us almost two-dozen jars of dark, spicy apple butter, and there is an awful lot left to process. The rest will go to apple sauce or will be dried. And even though we'll have plenty for ourselves and to give away, we're feeling a little sad that this year's harvest is less than half that of previous years, because our beloved grand dame Pink Lady tree has succumbed to the massive damage done when a bear climbed it last fall to get the two apples we hadn't been able to reach at the top. As Harry, our master-pruner friend said the other week when he had a look, the tree had been living with a minor case of blight which speedily took over the tree once it was damaged, and now even the few limbs that survived the bear are dead or dying. The tree needs to come down, and that will be a sad, sad day at Mucky Boots.

As if to compensate, our other distinguished old tree, the Cox Orange Pippin, presented us with a bountiful barrow-full of big, fat apples. They are a more utilitarian apple than the Pink Ladies: they are naturally much drier, and consequently good for dehydrating and storing. They don't have the sweet, juicy flesh and amazing flavour of the Pink Ladies, but we're grateful for them nonetheless.



And so the pantry is filling up again with jars and jars of jam, jam, jam - far more than we could ever eat. But half the fun is giving them away.

Can you say "Christmas presents?"

Goodbye sun

Usually we're knee-deep in puddles and mud by this time of year, but for some reason the weather has been really lovely: lots of bright sunshine which has more than made up for the colder than normal temperatures.

But today I looked at the weather forecast online and this is what I saw.

Saturday: rain.

Sunday: rain.

Tuesday: rain.

Wednesday: rain.

Thursday . . . Thursday . . .

I can't even bear to write it.

Snow.

Can you hear me shrieking from where you are?

Asparagus

This is not a tree. It's not even a shrub. It's an asparagus plant covered in gorgeous red berries.

I'm used to the tall, frondy tree-like version of asparagus that develops over the summer, once you stop cutting the spears to eat. And I've read that mature asparagus plants develop red berries, but mine never have - until this year. Now the big long bed that borders the chicken yard and houses asparagus as the front row attraction is home to Christmas in October. A slightly drunken-looking, listing over sort of Christmas.

I wonder how these would look with some twinkly lights...

Verdict

And here is . . . drumroll . . . the verdict.

Second Prize for the bumbleberry jam!

Second Prize for the gooseberry and lavender jelly/syrup/jelly!

Third Prize for the blueberry chutney!

I am chuffed. I am proud. I am . . . a jampion!

It gets better. On the chicken front, one of the Australorp cockerels (Hector Junior Junior, so named because he is a slightly smaller version of Hector Junior) won third in his category. The two Buff cockerels placed first and second in theirs, which is a good thing because they were the only two entrants.

But Hector! Our lovely boy Hector! He won his category, which may not be surprising because he was the only Australorp rooster entered. But he also went on to win the prize for the best rooster of any of the standard breeds (in other words, not a bantam). Here he is, with his fancy blue ribbon.

Kim has been down to check on her chickens at least once or twice a day since the fair began, and she reports that Hector is the object of many admiring comments from all the people who pass by. (Most commonly heard: "He's so big!"). But Hector, being Hector, has not let this acclaim go to his head. He's still our sweet, modest, calm lovely boy.

Way to go, Hector!

Fair

This is the weekend of the Cowichan Exhibition, and all of us here at Mucky Boots are pretty darn excited. Because after being enchanted by all things local and agricultural at last year's fair, this year we decided to pull up our farmer pants and participate.

Kim entered six chickens: Hector the Magnificent, three Black Australorp cockerels including Hector Junior, and two Buff Orpington cockerels. (She decided to leave the pullets at home to save our future egg-layers from what can be a stressful experience.) Here they are, when we dropped them off on Thursday night.

And I entered four preserves: blueberry chutney, in the fruit chutney class; the infamous gooseberry and lavender jelly that turned into a syrup and then back into a jelly, in the jelly-with-pectin class; bumbleberry jam (made with blueberries, strawberries, raspberries and rhubarb) in the jam-with-pectin class; and peach and cranberry jam, in the jam-without-pectin class.

You're going to have to stay tuned for the results, because the judging hasn't finished yet. But we did go down this morning to check on the chickens and have a good look around before the crowds hit tonight. And I am even more charmed this year than last.

I spent most of my time in the big hall housing the Domestic Science and Hobbies & Crafts divisions. And I became convinced of the genius of the organizers: if there are so many categories that practically anyone can find a niche to fit into, everyone will go home happy. It reminds me of the birthday party hat-decorating contests my parents would organize when I was a kid. There would be a prize for the hat with the most bows, and the most colourful hat, and the hat best exemplifying the party theme, and so on - the big idea being to send everyone home with a prize.

At the Cowichan Exhibition there are prizes for the best decorated cookies (the photo at the top), the best decorated cake (this won Second Prize and was way better than the First prize winner) . . .

. . . the best decorated cake made by a kid (that's the Kinsol Trestle, a local and recently restored historic train trestle) . . .

. . . as well as prizes for the best choux pastry, the best shortbread, the best squares made with cereal, the best cinnamon buns, the best apple pie and my favourite: the best selection of three dainties of any kind displayed on a doily. In all there are fifty-five different classes that have to do with baking. And then there's jams and jellies, and pickles, and tomato sauce, and mincemeat, and canned salmon. And that's just in the Domestic Science division.

In the Hobbies & Crafts division there are prizes for the best model made from scratch, the best model made from a kit, the best submission in the "Bathroom Boutique" category (that would be toilet roll cover, plunger disguiser, towel holder and so on), the best craft article made with a rooster theme, the best ornamental bird house, the best piece of hair jewelry, the best decorated egg, the best doorstop, the best item made with potpourri, the best decorated lampshade, the best item constructed from duct tape (this apron won Second prize) . . .

You get the idea. One hundred and four classes in all, and this division doesn't even include needlework, spinning and weaving, photography, painting, flower arranging, and wine making.

But even better still: if you find yourself with no creative talent of any kind, don't despair. You too, can join in the fun and maybe even be a winner in this class.

That's my kind of fair. But I've noticed there's one significant omission.

There's no hat-decorating.

Berries

We are having (another) grey, drizzly day here at Mucky Boots - with a bit of excitement this morning when the cold rain turned to slushy snow. Frankie acquired a white coat, the chickens were very perplexed, and Kim and I got cold noses and fingers working outside.

There was an extra bit of excitement when we looked down the lane from the coop to the house and saw flashing lights and two men in work gear with a chain saw, apparently cutting down one of our trees. We flew down the path waving our arms and hollering - and it turned out they were from the hydro company and they weren't cutting down a tree, they were drilling a hole in our power pole to check for rot.

The nice thing about the incident (other than learning our pole is rot-free) was that my attention was caught by some beautiful red berries growing in that part of the garden. The holly berries are a show-stopper, of course, but also glowing red in the greyness of the day were these berries on the winged euonymous.

Those of you who have been reading this blog for a while know I have been trying to rehabilitate my feelings about our winged euonymous bushes. They look too much like alien stick insects for my comfort.

But this fall's display of colour started to change my mind, and now these tiny red berries have convinced me it's time to get over my hangups and appreciate these bushes for real.