As I write, it is 68 degrees F, quite possibly the warmest it will get for the rest of the year. We did general pick-up-the-yard-before-snow-comes over the weekend, and I mapped out half of the Juneberry bed. Would like to map out the other half tomorrow or whenever else it is mild enough, but duty so persistently calls. This week it’s the quarterly reports, i.e., homeschooling paperwork. Next week, 2 birthdays and possibly jury duty. Meanwhile, I haven’t finished my treatise in several parts on colchicums. The only one still blooming is Colchicum autumnale ‘Alboplenum.’ It’s been blooming a full month now, a record, I think. Only three other plants blooming: Scabiosa ochroleuca, Crocus speciosus and (pardon the mouthful) Malva sylvestris ssp. mauritanius ‘Bibor Felho.’ That’s what it was called in the Thompson & Morgan catalog. Absolutely stupendous when well-grown and true to type (the flowers can be 4″ across and the plant taller than 5 feet–it’s more like a bush) and still very nice when grown imperfectly (spaced too close together, for example) and reverted from the cultivar (flowers more the typical malva size). Anyway, this time of year it seems to get a second wind with a good display of flowers. Makes me glad I cut back the old seedheads and glad a whole forest of them decided to self-sow near the door we go in and out of all day long. Ah, well, back to work.
In the end, this may be the most important thing about frost: Frost slows us down. In spring, it tempers our eagerness. In fall, it brings closure and rest. In our gotta-go world–where every nanosecond seems to count–slowness can be a great gift. So rather than see Jack Frost as an adversary, you could choose to greet him as a friend.
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