The harbingers of autumn
Tony Milne of Rough Milne Mitchell takes delight in the changing of the new season.
Summer has been a joy, although tough if your livelihood depends on the sun-baked earth you till. The big dry continues, and while IRD offers discretionary relief to those affected, the first of the autumn rain will be heralded with welcome respite and tangible green relief. Cyclic droughts and severe weather events seem to be becoming more regular, as is climate change in the everyday lexicon.
Over the past couple of months the vegetable garden has been bountiful, with leafy greens and cherry tomatoes the staple of many a summer meal. I am partial to a little relish, and I wish I was somewhat more motivated to do more with our tomatoes than I do. Our apple tree is laden, ready to be harvested and the first few, while tasty, are disappointingly a little floury. Best stewed, much easier than making relish. The feijoas are filling out, and soon their distinctive scent will permeate our kitchen.
As the days shorten and the light softens, the vibrancy of the perennial patch, a pleasant riot of green, purple, blue, white and orange, is starting to fade. Its summer verdancy is giving way to autumnal hues.
I ready myself for the annual cut, allowing 10 the penstemon, salvia, echinops, echinacea, libertia, alstroemeria, calamagrostis and others to rest for winter. The cut is more agricultural than best gardening practice, but it seems to work.
Autumn is nigh. For some, like my work colleague Fraser, it is the unforgiving hardness of the April footy fields that define autumn. Of skinned knees he is not fond: like those that farm, he wishes for rain. For me, it is the fiery colours of foliage that shout autumn. As does a red wine or an amber ale, both with a little more body. I digress.
The magic of a South American cabernet sauvignon while tucking into a hearty lasagne as wind and rain lashed the small caretaker’s hut in which I was hunkered down one late autumn is a memory that cheerfully lingers. Good company and conversation, too.
So, my interest was piqued by a recent piece by Bob Campbell that suggested less red wine is being produced globally and consequently, or maybe it is the other way around, being drunk. A changing climate is one reason, with white wine being quaffed more as the world warms. Another reason amusingly canvassed is apparently less red wine is being drunk by French men before they take on the day. Possibly not a bad thing.
While our climes are changing, the autumnal landscape that I experience is still resplendent in colour. Our spindle-like amelanchier that greets visitors to our front door, has leaves of yellow, some orange
with others turning red. It only seems like yesterday the amelanchier’s little white starry flowers delightfully welcomed spring.
The landscape is readying itself for winter, as we all do. Hearty winter soups await. However, it is the harbingers of autumn that I love.
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