Autumn marigolds in a Michigan backyard. A week ago, amid crisp sunny days, the flowers glowed smugly in the sunshine. That week, we harvested the last red, yellow and green peppers. We had a word with the remaining green tomatoes, reminding them that winter was on the way.
Exactly one week later, the first wet snow began falling. With predicted temperatures in the forties, it wouldn’t last, but it humbled the marigolds. That’s the marigold bed in the right rear. The flowers are still there, but they are huddling together, an altogether whiter shade of pale. The green tomatoes are unaccounted for – probably victims of a fickle Mother Nature.
Autumn marigolds in a Michigan backyard. A week ago, amid crisp sunny days, the flowers glowed smugly in the sunshine. That week, we harvested the last red, yellow and green peppers. We had a word with the remaining green tomatoes, reminding them that winter was on the way.
Exactly one week later, the first wet snow began falling. With predicted temperatures in the forties, it wouldn’t last, but it humbled the marigolds. That’s the marigold bed in the right rear. The flowers are still there, but they are huddling together, an altogether whiter shade of pale. The green tomatoes are unaccounted for – probably victims of a fickle Mother Nature.
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