Coming To A Head

Although when I wake up in the morning I feel pretty awful, and my face feels like nothing I can remember before the onset of Shingles, once breakfast is under way I begin to feel a bit better. Last night I found it difficult to fall asleep because of the pounding, drilling headache on the right side of my head. But when sleep finally tiptoed in and took my head by surprise, I slept soundly. Apart from the itchy-soreness, I am visibly improving, too. I don't look quite as hideously pustular. So that's encouraging, at the very least. I even feel slightly human again.

Despite which, when we ventured out into the ravine for our daily ramble, I did wear a hat to protect my scalp against the cold, and sun glasses as well for the same purpose, although there was no sun. It was just a tad above freezing, unusually cold for this time of year. And the colours are glorious, each day more so than the day before. Button has taken to rushing ahead, really trotting far ahead of us on the second half of our perambulation through the ravine, returning to old habits, just as cold weather has returned. So she has to be leashed at that juncture.

Trust Riley, stolid little fellow, who takes his time, and absolutely nothing we do will entice him to pick up his pace. He has to be able to look back from time to time, to ensure that no one else is around, who he must vet before moving on. Just occasionally, when Button stops and indicates to me that she would appreciate a shelled peanut, thank you very much, Riley will hurry, and begin his little trot to catch up with us, so he too can avail himself of the peanut cache. There are hordes of squirrels about everywhere, searching out edibles to be buried here and there, to satisfy their instinct to prepare for winter.

We watch as black, red or grey squirrels mount the places where we usually leave unshelled peanuts. Somewhat precipitate, since we're only just arriving. They go methodically, throughout the length of the trails, from one area to another where peanuts are usually left by us. When they see us coming by, watch from a distance as we deposit the peanuts, they move with great alacrity to claim what they discover so magically. On occasion, a tiny red squirrel will indignantly and purposefully chase the much-larger black or greys, then return to the cache, where there have been left sufficient for all to take.

On our return home, my husband, who has had to temporarily abandon his completion of the garden shed installation, went out back to resume the work. Like me, he has been under the weather; his ailment quite different than mine, a kind of intestinal flu-like malady that is only just now receding sufficiently to make him feel able to exert himself physically once again. Yesterday he completed installing the soffits and fascia, and today he began installing the siding on the shed. Looks as though that will be efficiently done; at least the two long sides; the other three, shorter ones, will take more effort in measuring and cutting.

As for me, it was past time to begin seriously working on the dismantling of our beloved gardens. Taking up the annuals, and saving the corms of the tuberous begonias. Cutting back the perennials, and just generally getting everything neat and tidy for the coming season of icy slumber. It's amazing how convolutedly wound-up the morning glory vines became, and how tricky it always is to disentangle and cut them away from the fences, tucking all that green mass into compost bags to be hauled away by the municipality. There is just far too much of everything to be tossed into our two composters, since we reserve them mostly for kitchen waste.

When I was done, everything looked a whole lot more subdued. There was still texture, still some colour, but the bright effervescence of the living blooms had disappeared. I did leave two of the smaller garden pots for now, because they're still so utterly beautiful, and I wanted to preserve them for another day; one, a huge pink geranium-ivy, the other a robustly colourful bleeding heart, set off by bright blue lobelia. The bacopa and the million bells were still fresh, but the ipomoea looked the worst for frost, as did the begonias and the impatiens. Gone, all of them, for another year. The petunias had long since seen better days. The dahlias had gone to curled-up sleep.

Not much point taking proud photos of the garden any longer. I've got now to get to work on the back, as well, building on what I've already accomplished in taking it apart for winter. And then the garden pots will have to be emptied of their soil, into the gardens, so the pots can be safely stored for winter. The hydrangeas, ligularia, the peonies and the tree peonies need trimming, along with all of our dozens of plantain lilies. I should really dig up and separate the lilies, but I'll give that a pass, this year. Soon as the garden beds are tidied up, I'll be able to plant next year's spring bulbs.

And the job will be done. Just in time for Hallowe'en. When I place the rose cones over top of all the roses, so that, at night, the white cones eerily resemble, a tidy graveyard. Rather appropriate, in a way.