Yesterday morning I walked down to the Community Dock to bring Nola’s bike home (I know, I know.I was going to do that Sunday, but I was so very relaxed in my chairs). Knowing the flattering effect of the sun’s early rays, I brought my camera along. . .
While the pears in the top photo are ripening nicely, just across this little road from our place, over my neighbour’s fence and within tantalizing reach of any passing deer or raccoon, the blackberries are almost done for the season. The scent of their over-ripe fruitiness hints at fermentation on the vine, but it also deepens the air with prophecies of autumn. . . My nostrils breathe it in and imagine woodsmoke; they remember the late September aromas of grapes being crushed in basements we walked past when we lived in Prince Rupert years ago, where Portugese and Italian immigrants kept the Old Country going in their small Northern city; they anticipate the rich, spicy-musty dark notes of leaves fallen thickly along the road and the mineral muddy smells that follow the first fall storm.
The apples are still ripening, but they, too, speak of colder months to come, months when apple pies might be pulled out of the freezer to bake up for dinner guests, the dark folding itself around the windows some rainy November evening . . . already, the sunsets are paring back the day, making room for more nighttime. . .
For now, though, mornings are sunny perfection, beckoning, promising. . . .
Many of my neighbours have already parked their golf carts at the island’s “traffic circle” and headed off to work or play. . . .
I wonder if they, too, think of Autumn on its way, following closely on August’s heels. Did they spot the patches of thistles, all that sweet purple fragrance turned to silken fluff and prickly husks?
That sounded more than a bit melancholic, didn’t it? Honestly, I’m looking forward to the fall rains, but I’m savouring these last weeks of summer. . . Especially summer on my little island . . . these summers have numbers on their back, if only I could flip them over to see how many remain for me. . .
Okay, then, enough of that (she says, attempting to change mood and tempo). We have an island wedding to attend this afternoon, and the couple couldn’t have chosen a more perfect day, although it will be rather warm. . . And what about you? Are you savouring the last weeks of summer or despairing that it barely arrived in your part of the world? If you’re wearying of your summer wardrobe and hankering for more substantial colours and textures, I see that Sue and Lisa at, respectively Une Femme and Amid Privilegeare featuring transitional wardrobes today. I haven’t had a chance to read either yet, but I’m going to pop over there as soon as I sign off here. Perhaps you’ll follow me (or, just as likely, you’ve stopped there first) — do leave a comment before you go, if you have a moment.
Lovely, wistful post and so sensitively written I am hanging out for an Indian summer here – lots of mellow early autumn days before winter bites.
I'll cross my fingers you get just that. Those gorgeous late Septembers are the best!
I'm rather dazzled by the thought of a 'transitional wardrobe' , having just hauled out a crumpled cardi from the back of the cupboard .
You're lucky to have a golden , glowing end to the month … here someone's just turned the light off .
I know that feeling of having the summer light turned off. Doesn't look as if it's likely here this year. In fact, we begin to wonder if it will ever rain again (and if it will do so in time to stop some of the fires). . .
As with you, I have always adored autumn. I loved that you included the sense of smell – I have a really good sense of smell, and remember those scents in a more temperate climate (living in Phoenix, have to travel to find them!).
Smell is so evocative for those of us who have good noses. . . .I would imagine the scents are very different in so much drier a climate.
The light in these photos is so beautiful. I feel like it's given me a better sense of your island than ever before.
Interesting. Morning and islands and summer. . . .and light. It's the best version of the island, for sure.
Although the sun still shines brightly, the signs of autumn are everywhere. I welcome the season change but lament that stores are clearing out all signs of colour as well. I can't say it's not expected.
I haven't been in the shops for a few weeks and there was still so much colour, so many bright tones. …
We're going to miss much of autumn here, and when we get back, all the colour will have washed away with the rains that must, surely, eventually, come. . .
With another heatwave upon us here, fall can't come soon enough for me! However, the forecast for next week in N.S. is in the very pleasant low 20s, so looking forward to that.
Your little island looks so pretty!
We're in the mid-20s today. Yesterday nudged 30, and that's too much for me. The rest of the week is supposed to be low 20s, my favourite spot on the dial! Enjoy Nova Scotia!
I agree with Lisa,you are a great player with light. And your island….are "real" cars prohibited?
Summer was always my favourite season,but this year it was too hot to enjoy it. I hate winter in the city,(snow turning to ice or slush,but somewhere in the hills it is beautiful) but there is very little of autumn and spring recently,as I was young those were the days, full with colours and beautiful smell. Now,climate changes and it is from sandals to boots over night.
I share your mood,I'm thinking about changes to come,some moves,my son going to London taking another master……but it is going to be interesting autumn,no?
Dottoressa
Thanks, D. As for the golf carts, residents worked hard to gain permission to drive them here (they still have to be licensed and insured, as any vehicle), so many islanders take advantage of their lower expense, ease of operation, etc. There are a number of cars here as well, and a few trucks, but the road that goes right 'round the island is only 4 kilometres, As well, it's expensive to barge anything over here and if there are mechanical problems. . . .
Interesting that climate change is affecting your transitional seasons more. And also interesting that you face a transition with your son moving. Life keeps us on our toes, doesn't it?
Interesting to see how much further into autumn you are on your island. Here in Yorkshire it is cool and wet but blackberries won't be ready for some time yet. Fruit is beginning to cover the trees in my friend's garden and there is something not summer about the light in the morning and the evening. But we still hope it is summer. You can tell when it is autumn by the smell first thing in the morning…
It has been an extraordinary summer here — nothing like it in over 100 years of record keeping. Wonderful for growing fruits and vegetables if only one could keep up with the watering, all done by hand due to watering restrictions in this drought.
For me, as much as that smell, it's the crickets chirping that signals that summer is coming to an end. . . I hope you get another few weeks, so that at least your blackberries can ripen. I'm going to make jam with some today.
Enjoy your island wedding! The end of Summer certainly brings a bit of sadness but I guess it signals new beginnings too!
It was a magical wedding, all the celebrations outdoors, music, boats going by, trees swaying in the breeze, the moon rising. . . .Yes, new beginnings. . .
Your island looks very beautiful & tranquil . Does it ever feel claustrophobic living on a small island ? Or do the open sea views & big skies prevent that ? Either way , I envy you
Wendy in York
Never claustrophobic, but the logistics can feel tiresome in the winter, particularly when its stormy, rainy, windy for days on end. . .
It will probably be a long time before it become cooler here, and we've had some much needed rain, although it is early to be thinking of fall in this area, at least in terms of cooler temperatures. But that sense of an ending is apparent in the foliage on the trees and the fading greenery.
I love the light in these photos and the sense of place you have captured.
So do you generally get a stretched-out fall transition? Ours can be, although who knows what will happen this year, such an anomaly
Your early morning stroll sounds, and looks, lovely. That shot of the abandoned bike the other day reminded me of the "Flavia" book I'm reading. Since she's in Canada now, Gladys has been abandoned too. No transitional dressing here in N.B. at my mum's. Too darned hot!
Flavia's in Canada now? Must. Catch. Up.