There's change in the fall air

by FRAN BLANK From a Brighton Garden

Have you noticed the change in the air? Cool evening air, shorter days, summer worn plants, and unbelievably huge garden spiders in their unbelievably huge webs all tell us that Mother Nature is gearing up (or is it down?) for another northern cold spell. By now your garden is either pooped out from bearing its harvest or bursting with its final push of produce.

Cooler temperatures and frequent moisture from rain (finally!) have pushed the garden into its last gasp of growth. Jarrahdale, a pale blue variety of winter squash we tried this year, is especially beautiful as it matures. Our ever present black enamel canner is a constant reminder the tomatoes are finally ripening.

Cucumbers, trained to grow up a staked metal mattress frame, are producing and producing, proclaiming "Eat! Eat! Hurry! Hurry!" Just-pulled beets and carrots actually taste sweeter when they mature in the fall. Onions and garlic, long since pulled, are drying on screens and ready for winter storage.

As I stand back and glance over the garden it is undeniable that summer is almost at an end. The garden seems to sense that winter is packing her bags and has paid for her ticket to Ohio. The train hasn't left the station but the whistle is blowing.

Now, fellow gardeners, is not the time to slack off. Now is the time to luxuriate in the grand finale your garden offers up. Pick and either eat, give away, or preserve. Now is especially the time to yank out, compost, enrich soil, and do whatever it takes to get your garden ready for next spring. I'm truly ready to stop, get out the afghan, and put my feet up. But, experience has taught me, spring planting will be so much easier if I finish these last few fall jobs.

I'm a scheduler, so I transfer to-do lists to my calendar and try my best to stick to the plan. "Stay organized, Fran." "No more excuses." That's my motto. Of course, scheduling to-do's and actually doing are two different things. I constantly find myself in the garden without needed tools. "Why didn't I bring my kneeling pad?" Or "Where on earth did I leave my trowel?" What was missing was the big "O" - Organization.

I accidentally found my solution at a rummage sale and it only cost me $2.50. An old two wheeled "Mitchell" pull cart came to the rescue. It's one of those metal wire, two wheeled carts you see everyone pulling at the Cleveland farmer's market.

I have filled my cart with everything I might need while I'm in the garden. Two hand pruners tucked safely in a leather holder hang from the side of the cart. Three different sized trowels hang from a large clasp attached to the outside top of the cart and they give off a lovely jingle as the rubber covered wheels bump over the lawn.

Inside I have sectioned the bottom into four squares and filled them with gloves, old scissors, my dibble, a brush to clean stone walkways after I weed their edges, a measuring tape, string and stakes, a tool sharpener, a very old and much loved short three pronged cultivator, a rag and an old scraper to clean tools at the end of the day, a small notebook and pen to jot down ideas and questions for later research, a fold-up saw, insect repellent and a tube of Blistex.

I tuck my favorite spade upright alongside the boxes and stuff two thick kneeling pads on top of the tools. A basket tops off the cart so I can carry exactly what I need into each growing bed. I can't forget my small battery-powered radio tuned to National Public Radio.

Oh, and one last thing. I always tuck a small package of tissues into my cart. I have been told time and again by a certain person, who shall remain nameless, that the simple solution to a runny nose out in the garden is something called (there is no delicate way to say this) the "farmer snot."

This procedure consists of placing one finger firmly against one nostril and blowing out the other nostril into the air. This is supposed to be the end of the runny nose. EEEEUW! Personally, I picture the following scenes. Scene one is where I blow and at that exact moment a neighbor glances innocently out a window and sees -- "What the!" "Is that Fran?" and is forever thereafter unable to look me in the eye.

Scene two is where I blow and the process does not complete itself. Now what?

Scene three is where I blow and the process does complete itself. My sun-baked brain says "Whoa! That really worked!" And that, dear readers, is how bad habits get started.

Scene four is "No way! Not in my garden!" Thus, there will always be a package of tissues in my cart. I can safely say "It's okay Patty, you can open your blinds!"

I am now out of excuses. My tools are organized and my to-do's are scheduled. I guess I'll walk out to the garden and bask in the grand finale of honeyed scents, giant spiders waiting in their giant webs, and the very last of the tomatoes.

If I pull along my trusty cart I'll be ready to yank out, compost, and generally get the garden ready for its long rest. Winter is on the way. The cold train is starting to roll. If you listen you can hear the whistle.