 |
| Hollyhocks, too, are thriving this year |
August is nearing its
end, and slowly summer is blending into fall. Colours are changing, becoming at
the same time muted and more vibrant. Small-flowered purple asters and
goldenrod are accented by the deepening brick-red of rosehips, and the Amur
Maples, their leaves far from turning colour, still flash a hint of it with
their seeds, as always a couple of weeks ahead of the foliage.
Harvest in the fields
is still a little while away, but it’s high season for harvesting in the garden.
Every few days I pick a five gallon pail of green beans, now joined by cucumbers,
while the peas are finally finished, as are sour cherries and raspberries.
Taking ends off beans, shelling peas, pitting cherries are pastimes to which
family and the odd dedicated friends gather on the patio in the evenings, and
days are filled with blanching, canning, freezing and jam making.
Birds are appearing in
larger numbers, though they are not yet gathering for their journey south. It must simply be due to the offspring having been
added to the crowd. Several times a day robins and song sparrows, today even a blue jay, gather on the
rocks by the side of the pond for their daily bath, an event I love to watch.
They take turns in little groups. First, they fly over to the large, flat beige
rock from wherever they had perched, water lapping at their feet, and just seem
to make up their minds to dip in, waiting and watching. Then, after the appropriate pause, they hop forward
until their feet are in the water, dip in their beaks, take a sip, throw back
their heads to swallow, all in preparation for the joyful splashing that comes
next, wings outstretched, feathers ruffled, fluttering their wings until a
spray of droplets rains down on their backs. A quick shake, a moment’s hesitation,
and off they fly, making room for the next bird in line.
No, nobody seems quite
ready yet to leave. When I was getting salad greens this morning I heard a
commotion in a tall dry poplar tree beside the garden and watched two small
song sparrows balancing on two branches facing each other. One, rapidly beating
its wings, was making typical baby-bird feeding noises while the other was
engaged in stuffing something into its gaping beak.
Not even the
hummingbirds have left for their long journey to Central America. Day after day
I wonder if this might be the last time I see them: they usually are gone soon
after August 20. Not yet, however. Just at lunchtime a female ruby-throated
hummingbird took its time to drink its fill at the feeder. Between long
sips it rested on the arched arm of the cast-iron stand from which the feeder
is suspended, oblivious (or maybe just indifferent) to the fact that its every
move was being watched from behind the glass a couple of metres away. We are so
fortunate to be surrounded by so much wildlife, to be able to watch and listen whenever we spend time outside!
