Lingering summer

Looks like I ‘m a bit distracted by the few warm days we’re getting this week, a bit of summer lingering past its due date. While I’m out raking leaves, the alpine strawberries are fruiting again. Very tart fruits, but fruits nonetheless.

Tarte Tatin

Ah, well, sometimes socializing trumps blogging. And sometimes socializing involves baked goods. Like maybe … apple doughnut pie!

Ceci n’est pas une pinecone

Okay, this is weird. A pinecone stuck in a lilac bush. With a maple leaf for garnish. I swear I had nothing to do with this. And why does my camera think 4:00 DST is in the middle of the night?

Mystery grapes

One more mystery. Every year I watch these vines produce round dark fruits. Are these grapes? If I pruned the vine, would they get bigger? Do you know of a place to look them up that doesn’t involve getting a hundred million hits on Google?

Coneflowers in fall

Snow or no snow, this is the last coneflower of the year. All the others, after blooming and feeding bees, have ripened into spiky seedheads. And the goldfinches have found them.

Autumn late bloomers

Come on, little pea! You can do it! You can still flower before it’s too late. Look at how well these alpine strawberries are doing.

Rose hips

Here’s another place to look for fall color — rose hips. Some are still a nice, bright red, but more have taken blackening hits from the cold. Already.

Obligatory leaves

It being fall, the leafy colors are all around. Aside from the burning bush, the other bits of red leaves come from the blueberry bushes. What do you know? Just as advertised. But these are lowbush, not highbush blueberries, so they’re not going to be much of a stand-in for any euonymi.

The Mystery of Edwin Nabokov

I’m not sure what I think on hearing that Vladimir Nabokov’s last, very unfinished novel will be published. I can certainly understand his impulse to provide for its destruction if he didn’t live to finish it. Most writers are mortified (pun intended) by the thought of letting anyone see their writing before they’re ready to […]

It’s getting euonymous up there

The Amateur Naturalist was tramping on a hill, On a sunny fall day when the bees are buzzing still. Such a bright red bush has escaped from the weeds, And familiar looking fruits reveal its identity.