A Frosty Flight of Fancy

Around this time of year, I start waiting for the first frost. I know it's coming, it's just a matter of time. Almost everything in my garden can tolerate one light frost but once that happens, whatever's left out in garden, usually tomatoes, zucchini and pumpkins need to come in or I'll lose them. Carrots tolerate frost pretty well so they'll come in last. I've been known to pick carrots right into November. As long as they're in before the first snow.

I begin listening for frost warnings on the radio and watch Autumns' touch in my garden; her tattle-tale signs are everywhere. The most delicate plants have edges bleached musty white as the nights become too cold for them. The green fronds of the carrots burnish orange embers at their tips. I know Autumn is whispering, I hear her voice on the winds as Autumn tells them of their new purpose. Winds move through the branches, coldly shaking weak and fragile leaves from the trees. Things pale in the winds' cooling breath. The sky is pale, the sun is pale, the grass loses its green vibrancy. The colour has faded. But before Autumn splatters all hues of red, yellow, orange and brown on the earth, the colour needs to drain even more.

Autumn will walk at night, looking and selecting what will be colored and when. She'll dress the landscape as she dresses herself; in all tones of yellow, orange and brown. She'll lean over the ground, her long, red hair flowing down. With a slender white hand she touches the earth and a shiver runs over the ground. She's brought the frost. And a warning, "Get ready. Prepare what you need to stay warm, fed and safe. My father Winter is coming and he is not a gentle nor fair man." Autumn helps us become strong because Winter will take the weak
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In the morning, the shiver Autumn brought crunches under my feet as I walk on the stiff grass. The first hard frost is here. As the sun touches the earth and the trees' shadows move away slowly through the day, the frost will vanish. But the results will remain. Whitened pumpkin leaves and black tomato plants protect their fruit for the last time. The last of the crop needs to come in and the garden will be put to bed. The season will end with a blanket of snow.

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Thanks for the warning, Autumn. Thanks for giving me just a little more time to finish the harvest. While your touch is cold, your colours are warm. Now I wait for them, delighting in their vibrancy and the crispness. Stay as long as you want, don't hurry away. I'm in no rush to see your father again.
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Frost vanishing from my garden in the sun's early light.

Even the roof of the chicken coop gets a touch of frost at its edges.