The first early morning visit to the plot in too long. I am still walking with a stick, but our manure delivery needs moving from the gate. The too-sandy soil needs more worms. I need to see Howard. And Otto.
There is a heavy frost. A bright clear blue sky. Crisp tulip tree leaves litter the gate. Everywhere, fading flowers and vegetables are stooped and silvered.
We make a run with wheelbarrows, a few sacks at a time. Howard is more heavily laden than me. It is beautiful at the site. The surrounding trees stark against the sky. It is good to be back “home” and of some use.
We stack the sacks at the side of the plot. There is a last large squash made visible by fallen vines. Beautiful, but too far gone to be edible. We will leave it for the birds or less fussy four-legged eaters.
There are a few late marigolds, scattered nasturtium vines in flower. The morning glory is over.
The giant sunflowers, blackened now, seed heads emptied, once 12ft tall, are drooping. We wheelbarrow them away to the communal compost. The cosmos sulphureus, a scant ghost of itself, is taken, too. We pull the Thai sweetcorn, discover one last baby cob for later.
The pea and sweetpeas tipis are left with miscellaneous tangled vines. It feels too abrupt to lose their height so soon.
The oriental mustards are thriving, some of leaf beet and late Italian chicories, too. A few, almost hidden in the undergrowth, have bolted with stems of astonishing blue flower.
We will return for fallen amaranth and orache, though we will, as always, let most of it go to seed. The same with the towering flowering fennel.
We are in no hurry to tidy. I love the slow fall, letting most everything live a fuller life. We will stop off again soon, toast our thanks to friendship, food and flowers. Remember, too, to thank our lucky stars.
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