Friday, September 22, 2006, 03:18

When the Frost is on the Punkin'

Remember the other day when I said the weather forecast said the temperature would get down to 34 degrees overnight and that there *might* be patchy frost, so Randy and I were going to cover pumpkins and squash and peppers and tomatoes and whatnot?

Well -- we got frost all right.

The temperature both Wednesday morning and Thursday morning on the thermometer by the bird feeder was 30 degrees.

I did not see any frost right up by the house or around the house. The garden and the hayfield were a different matter all together.

Wednesday morning the hayfield was white and downright crunchy with frost. I had to leave for a conference at the university at 7:30 a.m., so when I took Charlie out for a little walk at 6:30 a.m., I got a good chance to observe the frost in the hayfield.

We picked Randy's pumpkins Tuesday night and covered them, and good thing, too, because the pumpkin vines are all black now. The big pumpkins really cannot stand much for frost. The leaves on the edge of the Jack-o-lanterns where the tarp didn't reach look a little touched and the edges are black and curled, but the whole leaves didn't turn black and the vines didn't wither. It seems to me that the Jack-o-lanterns will tolerate a little bit more cold than the Big Max.

This morning (Thursday) there was more frost, but my truck windows were not quite as coated with frost as they were Wednesday, so it wasn't quite such a hard freeze as the night before. But still, there was frost.

I don't want the growing season to be over. I want the pumpkins and the squash and the tomatoes and the peppers to finish ripening whatever will ripen. I want my rosebush by the basement door to finish blooming.

I want my mum by the basement door to finish filling out with mums so that the burgundy flowers glow in the sunlight and make me think of the garden mum as my "burning bush."

I want whatever rugosa roses that want to bloom yet to have the opportunity to bloom. I want the few morning glories that will have flowers yet to open the rest of their flowers. I want the moss roses to bloom as long as they can.

I don't want to think too closely about the days when the sun will rise shortly before 8 a.m. and will set at 4:30 p.m. I don't want to think too closely about the days when the "high" temperature is 10 degrees below zero. I don't want to think about driving through snow and slush and blizzards and snowdrifts. Which of course, is what frost means -- that the short cold days of winter are not far away.

But deep down, in the heart of my heart, I am secretly glad about the frost.

No, actually, I am gleeful about the frost.

Gleeful because the frost must have surely killed off at least a little bit of ragweed. Not as much as when it gets down to 20 degrees. But some of it. The stuff has made my life miserable for two months now, and I can't help but feel gleeful that it has been just a tiny bit pinched by frost. A little curtailed by the frost in its over-active pollinating. A smidgen set back on its heels by the frost.

Of course, the next thing, once we've had enough freezes, will be the mold. When the ragweed is gone then it's the mold that makes my allergies flare.

But the mold shall be taken care of by snow on the ground. Snow covers the mold and then the spores can't fly around.

Such is the cycle of life. Good and bad. Bad and good. And the bad sometimes brings the good. And the good sometimes brings the bad. Frost kills the ragweed. But the frost that kills the ragweed allows the mold to grow. But when the mold grows, it's the snow that stops the mold. It's all the glorious cycle of life. The cycle of the seasons. Good and bad. Rich and poor. More and less. Longer and shorter. Warm and cold.

But I'm still gleeful that a little bit of that ragweed got set back on its heels. . .

LeAnn R. Ralph

*******************************
Here's a verse from a poem by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916) that describes autumn very well. . . It is also this poem that is the source of the phrase "frost on the pumpkin". . .

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here--
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock--
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

If you want to read the rest of the poem click here.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006, 20:07

Cold and Rainy. . .

I suppose I am being overly-dramatic, but it almost seems as if snow showers are falling today here at Rural Route 2.

Snow showers?

In SEPTEMBER?

It is gray and cloudy and windy today (with occasional peeks of sun) with a high temperature this afternoon of 42 degrees.

Every so often, a squall will sweep in from the west, and a couple of times when I was outside, it seemed more like snow rather rain -- as if the droplets were a little thicker and heavier than rain.

Isabelle seems to be feeling better today. She runs to her shelter to get in out of the showers when the squalls blow through. Then she will come back outside and stand for a while until the next squall blows through. Same for Kajun. He stands outside for a little while, but when a squall comes, he goes into the barn.

This evening we are going to have to cover the tomatoes and squash and pumpkins. The weather forecast says the low will drop down to 34 degrees tonight with the possibility of patchy frost.

If the temperature drops to 34 degrees, I am relatively certain that we will have frost in the low spots -- and that includes the pumpkin patch and the garden.

Randy won't get home from work until 6:30 this evening, but as soon as he comes home, we are going on a "covering up spree" to get as many of the plants under cover as possible.

I have to say -- it really feels cold outside. I am wearing a hooded sweatshirt, and when I go out, I put on a fleece jacket and pull the hood up over my head.

Only a few days ago, on Saturday, I was sweating bullets. It was 84 degrees and very humid on Saturday.

Whatever happened to easing into this kind of weather gradually?

LeAnn R. Ralph