On this winter’s eve, I’m more than ready to put autumn to rest and to welcome a few more precious seconds of daylight starting this week.
As it is in so much of New England, late autumn at Lush Heritage is arguably the most unremarkable time of the year. It’s betwixt and between the region’s spectacular foliage season and its stunning, snowy winter. Vestiges of glorious fall color no longer cling to the trees or emblazon the ground. Even the reddish-brown summer coats of the whitetail deer have faded to a dark brownish-gray to match the duller surroundings. At the main house, I’ve left certain lawns littered with acorns and horse chestnuts. In the spring, I’ll remove whatever the animals haven’t consumed or stored.
It’s all rather dreary, except for the lawns and hayfields which appear somewhat verdant.
Fortunately, this year, late autumn graced us with several unseasonably warm days, extending the fall planting season. I could finish weeding the Phragmites out of the south garden then plant my 350 bulbs!
However, about ten days ago, almost a foot of heavy, wet snow clobbered us. I marched outside during the storm to try to shake free the most vulnerable trees and bushes of its already unbearable weight. I never could have saved everything. By the time I’d gotten to them, 40-year old yews were bent to the ground. The storm set off a chorus of cracking branches and set me on edge as I searched overhead and all around to see where the violence was occurring.
The next morning, the tree destruction all around the property was shocking. Perhaps most troubling was the massive maple tree limb that had broken and dislodged stones from an old barn foundation.
All of which I might have accepted more readily if it had actually been winter, even if it was less than two weeks away.
My sister and I took turns shoveling the main house driveway. I shoveled the little house driveway and pathways at both locations. I picked up as many branches as that packed snow would allow, amazed and grateful that the felled old maple hadn’t hit the little house and that the large branches that had fallen on the stable at the main house hadn’t caused serious damage.
We decorated some of the outbuildings for Christmas, wishing we’d planned better.
And, then…the rain came a couple of days later and washed away much of the snow.
Last Sunday morning, I glimpsed a lovely fog rolling over the hayfields from my bedroom window. Perhaps a courtesy of the rain’s remaining moist air. I bundled up to enjoy nature up close.
The ground was firm but not frozen. So, I convinced myself that I still had time to plant all those hyacinths and daffodils. But before I could get them in the ground, another storm hit us three days ago, battering much of the northeast. On this winter’s eve, they sit in the darkened ell – 350 beauties-in-waiting. I must find out if they can be kept viable, and if so, for how long, or if they can still be planted. For all of us (very) late gardeners, good luck to us all!
