Rewards

Today was a good day. A day to savor every small bit of the garden that is still shining. A day for standing in the sunshine and drinking in the warmth of an October sun. No big swaths of color to thrill anymore. Just little treasures like this magnolia pod that has burst open to reveal its richly red seed.

And the finely described pinwheels of the sweet autumn clematis seeds (Clematis paniculata or sometime c. terniflora).

The one aster (Aster novae angliae) plant that bloomed pink rather than purple like the rest.

I'm still enjoying the morning glories that are still magnificent,

and a sedum that drapes softly over some european ginger.

There are still some roses

The marigolds that I plant each year in honor of my mother are still blooming without a care,

and the fat seed heads of the sunflowers are now a smorgasbord for the goldfinch and chickadees.

Every single one of these things are the rewards I reap for making a garden. I never take them for granted. But today I got to savor one big reward for a decision I made 12 years ago.  I like native plants and I like birds. I have made an effort to plant native shrubs that produce things birds like. Twelve years ago I planted a very small northern bayberry shrub (Myrica pensylvanica), as it was always one of my favorite shrubs for its waxy leaves and the smell of its beautiful, gray berries. I included it in the bouquets for my winter wedding.  I was delighted to discover a few years later that yellow-rumped warblers (a juvenile shown below) are some of the very few birds that can digest the waxy coating of bayberries.

Courtesy Cornell's http://www.allaboutbirds.org/

That small shrub I planted all those years ago, along with two more have now grown into a large hedge along with some winterberry (Ilex verticulata) and a summersweet shrub (Clethra alnifolia). 

This morning I spotted a yellow-rumped warbler in the yard for the first time ever. This afternoon I watched it land in the bayberry and eat a few berries. They came, they came!

This is one of the sweetest rewards of my life.

Anticipation

The garden teaches me patience. Every year, I looked forward to the unfolding season of growth that it provides. We are in the midst of the cycle now with some flowers already faded, some in bloom now and more to come. I sit on my deck and look, cataloging what is still left to anticipate. I crave those blooms, vegetables and fruit; I want to see them, eat them, savor them. Years of experience has taught me though that I cannot crave them too much. I must give them their time and learn to enjoy the delicious anticipation for itself.

I have to wait until July each year to see the butterfly bush bloom.

The mandavilla I saved from the clearance rack has its first open blossom today.

As does this tiger lily. This one took a long time to open--I was expecting it last week.

We are eating the cherry tomatoes, but these Carmellos are making us wait.

As are these stunning San Marzanos. These will be sauce later on. 

The Joe-pye weed is starting to get its color,

but we're going to have to wait a while longer for the moonflower vine. I'm really anxious for these--I haven't grown them in at least 10 years.

We won't be eating the pears until late August or early September.

I've already harvested the garlic and it is drying in flats on the driveway. I am happy knowing that we have more to savor--the cardinal lobelia, onions, carrots, a second wave of roses, morning glories, fall-blooming anemone, tomatillos and more.

When the toad lily blooms (the strappy leaves not the variegated ones), however, I start to panic just a little. This is the last flower to bloom in my garden. It will be late September before it shows off its orchid-like blooms. The anticipation then will only be for colder temperatures and, well, snow shoveling. It's much harder to enjoy that anticipation. Until then, the garden will carry me. Still so much to look forward to.