Sunday Morning

The smell of fresh air and coffee. Perhaps I was most excited about the outdoor smells that signaled a change of seasons at last. My Oregon family would chuckle at my enthusiasm for temperatures in the 70s and 80s, but in Virginia where we have spend a long, hot, and dry summer, the relief is more than welcome. Air conditioner off, windows open!

My husband always gets up earlier than me, so in addition to the Sunday morning smells, I especially love the tone he sets. As I come downstairs there's always something playing that suits the day, perhaps the Cambridge Singers or Hayden or Yo-yo Ma. Today, as last, I can do what I love to do the most: take my coffee and newspaper and camera outside on the deck to alternately read, sip, watch birds and wildlife, see what's blooming, and hear the Sunday morning music in the background while trying to capture the mood in pixels.

On my way outdoors, though, I often have to work my way past that little Sunday Morning something in my brain. Not guilt, a touch of sadness, wonder, peace. My husband took me to a Susan Werner concert once where she was promoting her new CD, The Gospel Truth. I completely agree.

Crape Myrtle

Today I relish in the cool temperatures and worship the tick of nature in my backyard. I look up to see the Crape Myrtle that's grown as tall as our two-story house. Blooms are past their prime, berries are forming, and leaves are turning orange. Behind it, a tulip poplar has already largely changed over to a golden hue.

Goldrenrod with Zinnias
and Black-eyed Susans in the
background

Crape Myrtles are blooming all over Williamsburg in August and September and I image how visitors down the street at Colonial Williamsburg are snapping photos. I remember that when I worked for Colonial Williamsburg, a question that went something like "what's that tree with no bark and pink flowers" was among the most frequently asked. Nurserymen of the Enlightenment exchanged exotic plant materials like Crape Myrtle, a native of China and Southeast Asia. The French plantsman Andre Michaux is credited with bringing Crape Myrtle to North America. His garden in South Carolina was established after 1786, so Crape Myrtles may not have been familiar to Virginia's Revolutionary patriots. Michaux got the credit, but their were well known nurserymen in Virginia too.

Yellow Crownbeard

As the weather changes, I'm anxious to see the Goldenrod bloom. I've got lots of it growing on stalks 10 to 12 feet tall. It should be spectacular soon. Another touch of yellow, my favorite color by the way, will arrive when the Yellow Crownbeard blooms. There are several tall sprays of it artfully arranged between the goldfish pond and the bird feeders so as to frame but not block my view. I imagine the blooms will emerge sometime this week.

Mistflower

Finally, fall is the season to enjoy another native and member of the aster family, the Blue Mistflower. It grew profusely in my garden last year. I remember asking my friend and native plant lover Cynthia Long what it was and she said, "Oh yes Mistflower, another gift." Indeed, another native wildflower that finds its way into the carefully unattended garden without our asking for it or attending to it in any way other than to admire and enjoy!

The Summer's heat and drought conditions did challenge my garden and me. Even a few of my drought tolerate natives gave up, unable to take another day of 100 degrees or more, or were less than vigorous bloomers. I know they are drought tolerant, but it was more than I could take on some days, so I watered at dawn or dusk. With fair temperatures contributing to less waste and evaporation today, I just might go out and guiltily give my blooming wildflowers a long, slow drink. The 10-day weather forecast proclaims day after day of sunshine. It will be gorgeous, but dry. I want the blooms to tarry.