Signs of the Seasons...

      ...It is late August and in the otherwise quiet morning, I can hear the noisy rattle of cicadas with an accompaniment of crickets chirping in the background.  These familiar summer sounds confirm for me that the world goes on no matter what is happening all around. The occasional dry leaf slowly floats down from neighborhood trees.  In spite of the copious rains we have experienced here in the Magic City, things are dry.  My father, a woodsman by nature, taught me to observe nature and to read the signs of the seasons it shared.  As gardeners, my grandmother and her sisters talked about the signs of the seasons. predicting the next seasons ahead by reading those signs.  Is it any wonder I contemplate the seasons ahead by reading nature's signs as I sip my tea or coffee to start my day.  I guess I have become the go-to gal for my friends who somehow expect me to knowingly predict the following season's weather.  Maybe I should start dressing like a wooly bear caterpillar.  In my mild frustration with those who ask about the coming seasons, I have to remind myself that not everyone has been raised as I was.  They did not have the benefit of family who knew how to read nature.  Even my closest cousins, who had the same grandparents, did not learn the lessons of nature from our family.  Go figure!  It's all a matter of listening and paying attention.  I did that as a kid.  I listened to the older generation and benefitted from their experiences and wisdom.  But once again, it's all in how well the story is told.  For the most part. my mother's family were all good storytellers.  Though he was a man of few words, my father was a good storyteller as well.  Those yarns and tall tales were the rich inheritance I received from all of them, and I cherish each of those stories and memories.

      As I watched bees in Le Petit Jardin working hard to gather their treasures from herbal blossoms, I somehow knew that it meant fall and winter would come early this year.  Already fallen leaves were crunching under foot even though they had not turned in color.  What was I going to do with the massive amounts of lemon balm that hd overtaken my tiny garden?  When in doubt, make a wreath is my mantra.  In order to give the bees every chance to collect as much nectar possible from their lemony treasure trove, I am harvesting slowly.  Basil and Thyme need to go into vinegars and jellies.  I should begin to harvest some of my rosemary to that purpose as well.  Quite obviously, bees move faster than I do when it comes to the treasures of the garden.  But we are deeply into the season of harvest.  It is time, and the next season will be upon us much sooner than we know.  How do I know?  A wooly bear caterpillar told me so!...