Well, it’s here: officially, it’s the first day of fall here in the northern hemisphere. Weeee!
In north-central Florida, that seems to mean the temps may fall into the upper 60’s at night, and only reach the mid-upper eighties, maybe 90F, during the day. And it rains a bit less. It’s become garden-planting season, since the intense heat and humidity of late summer (which wilt and rot new growth) are waning. I am so ready for this.
I’ve got carrot seedlings to plant out, and green onions, too. Yellow pear tomatoes to transplant (and as always, extras to try to squeeze in or give away. I always seed so many, thinking that none will grow–and they ALL grow. Then I feel bad thinning them…). This is not my “normal” fall activity, but I’m okay with that. Life is change, blah blah blah, and all that.
Then Spousal Unit and I went to a greenhouse yesterday, and came home with a fig tree. Really! I can’t wait for the first harvest of sweet, tiny figs. Add that to the Meyer lemon tree I brought home earlier in the week, and … well, you can see I have a problem with food plants. I love them: love growing and nurturing them, and harvesting from them. Love having them around. They make me feel rich. But fitting them in is hard. Especially if they’re trees.
Other fun things: in the evenings, I’ve been hearing a male short eared owl. In the wee hours of the night/morning, I often hear a great horned owl. The Cornell Lab of Ornithology makes identifying the unfamiliar calls not only possible, but fun! A red-shouldered hawk soars overhead during the day, with it’s keening cry, and feeds (or attempts to feed) from our bird feeder. Not the seed–the birds eating there are its target meal. This place is way more fun than should be legal, wildlife-wise.
Just so you don’t think I’ve given up on writing, let me assure you that I’m still getting words down on the novel. And short stories are banging against my cranium, trying to get in. Or out. Whichever. But stories follow their own seasons, not those of Mother Nature.
If you’re somewhere in the north, and fall is descending upon you with its normal temperate fervor, enjoy a crisp fresh apple for me. A Winesap, when they come in. Or a McIntosh. Yum. I promise to eat an orange for you, when they come ripe December-ish, just south of here. 🙂