The plants in my garden are mostly all waiting for death to come in the form of sharp ice crystals. The last few tomatoes haven’t budged from green, the tomatillos haven’t swelled within their papery coverings, the last few lima beans remain small and thin and hidden among the leaves.
The only exceptions are the marigolds and the Mexican sunflowers that are still bursting with blooms. It fits with Dia de los Muertos celebrated now on All Saints Day and All Souls Day–these flowers that are laughing in the face of death.
Meanwhile, I finally bought some apples. They’re so wonderfully fall to me, but buying them in Evansville always makes me miss the wonderful Findlay Market that John and I used to frequent in Cincinnati. One of our favorites among the local farmers there was The Apple Guy who came every year with at least a dozen different apple varieties. We’d stop at his table and explain the particular flavor and crispness that we were looking for–or even just the recipe we were going to use. He’d suggest one, offer a sample, and if that wasn’t exactly what we were looking for he’d suggest a second and offer another sample and another. He had a great late variety that was called black… something. And he had apples through Thanksgiving, as I recall.
Here, apple season is apparently over. Already. The local growers had only a couple options. And no samples. But they’re pretty…
And the raccoon count? It stands at 5. Plus 2 possums. It’s been about two weeks since the last raccoon was trapped, so we thought we were making progress. Then we realized that the trap had a rock trapped under the trip panel so it was disabled the whole time. Now we’re back to thinking we hear raccoons climbing all around our house as we sleep.