The Bittersweetness of the Fall Flower Garden

We aren't too far away from our first frost.  Spouse, who has loved studying the weather his entire life, thinks it will be Saturday night.

The first frost is always traumatic.  The flowers (and veggies) you have tended since planting lie withered at your feet.  You feel a tinge of responsibility:  I have failed them, you think.

But you really haven't.  Rather, where I live, frost is just one aspect of the changing seasons.  The plants wouldn't have survived much longer.  It's an ending but also a hope for the coming year.

Right now, I look at the colors of my fall garden, knowing that nothing lasts forever.  If it did last forever, would I appreciate them in the same way?  I think not.

Let me remember through my photographs.

Coleus.

Pink mum.

Yellow mum.  My spouse says he is going to put these (they are in pots) in the (unheated) garage when the cold hits, and try to overwinter them.

We've done the overwintering before.  This yellow mum is from last year.  We overwintered it in the garage and planted it in the ground this spring.  The pinkish blooms are those of a sedum.

This is a commercially grown purple aster.  I think this is its third year.  It's not doing too well, possibly because of the drought that hit us much of the year.  We are finally getting much needed rain.

In our back yard, Japanese anemones just started opening about four days ago.  This year they are sparse.  I'm hoping it was just the drought.

My last selection for today is (yellow) a zig zag goldenrod and a shaggy aster.  Both are wildflowers and were purchased from a nursery in the Ithaca, New York area that specializes in native plants.

Frost, you will come as you always do, but I beg that you give me and my plants a little more time.  Please?