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I need a tissue just thinking about it. Sniff, sniff.
It wasn't until I realized that Labor Day is THIS WEEKEND that it hit me. Summer is almost over. How did that happen? Wasn't it the first of August just last week?
With the sun setting earlier, suddenly the evenings have become cooler. It has actually been too chilly to sit outside for our normal supper hour, about 7:30. We've enjoyed dinner on the deck for over two months, and now suddenly... brrrr. Donning a down jacket to slurp corn on the cob is not my idea of dining al fresco.
The hardest part of the winding-down season is saying goodbye to my buddies - the plants. Many of the large pots of annuals are still chugging along showing off their hot pinks, rich reds, and deep purples. Although the perennials have done their best, they are biting the dust at an alarming rate.
Rats. I was just getting into the swing of things with regular watering, weeding, and deadheading. Pop-up rainstorms helped answer some prayers along the way, but my daily inspections had finally become routine. Now it's Labor Day, and those labors are winding down. It all went too fast, too fast.
Looking back at the early spring tasks of getting the garden going, I blinked, and it was June. Many of my May plants still weren't in the ground. Then, in the wink of an eye sticky with humidity, it was July. I have finally learned that July is HIGH SUMMER, with the blossoms at their fullest, bestest, and most wonderfulest.
This July was also lots of company and family, while additionally working in a few lunches with friends. I love gathering around the umbrella table on lazy, sunny days with a chicken salad plate and maybe a stemmed glass of something very cold.
It was at one of those lunches that a friend asked, "What are those really tall yellow plants at the back of the garden?" Without a lot of conviction, I told her they were Jerusalem Artichokes. "Oh, do you get real artichokes from them?" she asked.
Yikes. All I knew about them was the name. I received a clump of them years ago from an old friend and only asked him, "How much sun does it need?" I never thought to ask about the phantom artichokes.
I guess the clump landed in a happy place that first summer. Now three large yellow plants are going strong and are the tall men - the mainstay - along the back fence line. My question about the possibility of artichokes drove me to some online research.
It's been nine or ten years that I've admired these effortless giants and their easy flowering habit. One visitor commented that they reminded her of sunflowers. Another said that they were like long-legged black-eyed Susans.
One Googled article identified the Jerusalem Artichokes this way: they are not artichokes and they are not from Jerusalem. OK then. A little more tracking disclosed the speculation that a Neapolitan word pronounced close to Jerusalem is how they got their name. They were grown profusely in Europe, but Native Americans also ate the chokes - the roots - for centuries.
The official name for the plant is Helianthus Tuberosus - a distant cousin of the sunflower. From the looks of them, I would say a third cousin twice removed. Only their height and their color identify them as from the same clan. In some parts of the country, they are called sunchokes.
So, another summer is headed down the lane, and I have learned two things. I now know a tiny bit about my Jerusalem Artichokes, and I know three more plants to never pot again while the ravenous deer still chew up our neighborhood.
The rabbits haven't been as destructive this year, but I think I know why. Last year, I determined that their maternity ward was directly under my deck. Those mama rabbits must have heard me talking about weapons and anti-rabbit foodstuffs. I'm pretty sure they skedaddled to parts unknown, thinking it would be easier than guessing what my next weapon would be. A few stragglers did some early damage then headed for the hills.
The next set of labors is shutting the garden down by mid-October. I've promised myself not to be transplanting in the snow and not to be dragging in cement angels on an icy path.
Please, Mother Nature. Just a couple more suppers on the deck without the puffy down vest. I'm praying for a few more golden evenings before those dreaded pumpkins arrive.
Marcy O’Brien can be reached at moby.32@hotmail.com