After last week’s summer-like weather, where temperature hit the mid-80s for a couple of days, much-cooler weather arrived this past weekend, Combined with the strong winds from a developing nor’easter later this week, it is clear that fall is here.
Aside from the change in the weather, the signs of summer’s end have been unmistakeable.
Our tomato plants, which provided such a bountiful harvest since the beginning of July, now only have green fruit on the vine. Whether they will ripen depends on how much sunshine and warmth we get in the next few weeks, though we know from long experience that many will never make it to maturity. On the other hand, we have a neighbor who loves green tomatoes and he’ll be welcome to them.
Nearby, the basil is still doing well, providing plenty of aromatic leaves. But they too, are not growing with the same vigor as they did just a few weeks ago.
Our cucumber plants continue to sprout the yellow flowers that inspired so much hope in July — and we had a great year for cukes as well — but the chances of the new buds developing are slim at this time of year.
Meanwhile, our potted annuals, especially our petunias, that have brought so much joy since early June, have grown leggy and “spent.” We already are replacing them with colorful chrysanthemums.
The landscape is shifting colors, too. The marsh grass, a verdant green throughout the summer, has turned to a golden yellow. Goldenrod may be an invasive weed to some, but its blossoming these past few weeks along a nearby hillside has brought a yellow sea of joy to our eyes when we drive past it.
The so-called Montauk daisies — native to Japan, but popular along our coastal areas for their salt-spray tolerance — are ready to burst forth with white flowers, bringing color to our gardens when everything else is fading.
There are noticeably fewer birds. We no longer have the daily spectacle of the nearby colony of common terns. As the farthest-migrating birds in the world that see more hours of daylight than any other creature, they flew off for their annual migration to South America a few weeks ago.
Terns are fearlessly and aggressively territorial. Larger birds, whether they be seagulls, crows, red-tailed hawks, or osprey, who dare to cross the terns’ “airspace” near their platform always were far outmatched when confronted by two or three terns working together to chase them off.
The terns also are aerial acrobats. They regularly alight from their nesting platform in unison every five or 10 minutes and fly in a seemingly chaotic, yet clearly disciplined, formation before returning to rest for five or 10 minutes — and then repeating the sequence.
We even miss their non-stop screeching, which by mid-summer had become a staple of our local ambience.
Other birds in our “neighborhood” have followed suit. The osprey nests atop the poles in the marshes and harbor beacons sit abandoned until next spring. There are noticeably fewer egrets. Though a few are still hanging around, they’ll all be gone shortly.
Aside from the transformations of the landscape and among the animal world, the ultimate measuring stick for the changing of the seasons is the shrinking daylight.
However, even this gloomy indicator of fall’s arrival has a plus side. With the sunrises and sunsets moving southward as the earth tilts on its axis, the sun once again is rising over the ocean where we live, providing spectacular sunrises. When there are some clouds above the horizon, the rising sun lights them up in vivid red and orange hues.
Further north, the trees in New England are displaying their spectacular fall foliage, a blanket of color that our region soon will inherit. It is the reason that autumn is the most popular time of year for cruise ships traversing through Boston as they make their way northward from New York City for stops in Newport and Boston, and then along the Maine coast to Montreal and Quebec.
As much as we may want to hold onto the summer, we have to let it go. Autumn has arrived and we have no choice but to embrace it.