It is beautifully cool tonight as I write this post.
Low humidity, a cool 72 degrees, full moon. it feels like Football Season.
You have no idea how much I love Football Season.
I may or may not have an addiction to NCAA Football. Perhaps more than my husband. I can sit at home on a Saturday, turn on ESPN, and watch for solid 12 hours. I have this thing for underdog teams. For good looking uniforms. For beef eating farm boys tossing the pigskin. Gosh, I miss Colt McCoy and our Saturday one-sided love affair.
But this post isn’t about football.
It’s about my garden.
Tonight there are still buckets of cherry reds and yellow bells flourishing on the vine. There are huge purple peppers growing. There is okra. San Marzano tomatoes. Herbs upon herbs. There is a second round of raspberries starting to come on. And now, the grapes are really beginning to ripen up.
We are going to have SO many grapes. And quite honestly? I can’t wait. We have four varieties, and while we aren’t even sure what the varieties ARE, we collectively agree after our trip to Treehouse Vineyards, that the white grapes are Muscadine. I am thrilled about that!
I’m excited to make juice, and jelly. I’m anxious to try a Grape Pie. Heck…we may even attempt making wine this year. Is it hard? I’ve not looked into it, so if you have, and you can offer some advice (please!) I would love to have it!
While I love this time of year – the changing of the season coming on, the first few cool nights in the Dog Days of summer, it is also bittersweet. It means the warm days have passed in a blink. The season of fresh fruit and vegetables practically gone.
I will miss the taste of red ripe tomatoes, warm on my tongue, fresh from the vine. I will miss traipsing up into the back yard to dig out a sweet onion from the dirt. I’ll miss berry stained little boy fingers and dirty bare feet.
Tonight we took our baby to Pre-School Orientation. He was so excited to be going to Big Boy School. It’s only 3 days a week, for 3 hours each day, but it’s more than that.
He’s growing up and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
How long will it be before he is independent of me entirely? Before he’d rather die than cuddle with me in big comfy blankets? I am afraid it will happen as quickly as the garden fades.
One more year until he’s in Kindergarten.
I’m going to do my best to make it a great last year of childhood.