Hasn’t it gone quiet? The only natural sound seems to be the wind as it blows the leaves in swirls and sways the tall grasses. There are still birds around – sudden little flocks of chickadees landing in the elderberry bush, feeding for a bit, then moving on. They’re here, but so quiet. Even the blue jays move noiselessly through the trees. A shadow on the ground is the only indication that they have swept through the yard. I see a squirrel dash across the yard, but quietly. He hasn’t scolded in weeks.

The sunflower heads hang heavy with seed. They appear bowed in prayer. The bright yellow petals of the black-eyed Susans show only the cone-shaped centers now. The petals have all withered away. In the daylily bed, only Ollalie Keith stands tall and budding. All the other plants have been shorn of scapes and are now resting. The red leaves of the aruncus brighten a dark corner of the woodland garden.

Even the raspberry patch is quiet. The canes are bent over with ripe, purple fruit. The sweet aroma still draws the bees and wasps but they move slowly now. I inadvertently touch one while picking berries and it simply, slowly flies away. I fill a large bowl with the fruit, tossing a berry occasionally to the dog that sniffs around the ground-touching canes.

The other dog has discovered something near the daylily bed and can’t be tempted away. At last, my bowl full, I walk over to check out her discovery. She’s found a new hole near the corner of the stone wall. As always, I’m amazed at the perfect roundness of the hole. Only two inches in diameter, it is as round as a pipe and hidden in the grass. There are no piles of dirt nearby, not like the piles the moles leave around. I once saw a chipmunk come out of just such a hole so I presume a chipmunk made this one. Where is the dirt? How could it have hidden the entrance so well? When I think of the size of the animal and the tiny size of its brain, I’m in awe of what it has accomplished.

This past summer, we’ve been visited by several Northern water snakes. Their black skin is checked with dull red, black, and tan figures, most easily seen when they are digesting a nice meal. Dull from the warmth of the sun and the energy they need to digest, they lounge on the rocks around the vegetable garden. The bulging meal expands the skin, easily revealing the intricate pattern. I know the garden is riddled with chipmunk holes and tunnels, and I wonder if the snakes simply wait near a hole to grab a meal or if they move down into the tunnels to seek their prey. I think they dined well this summer, but I haven’t seen any snakes at all for weeks now. Are they already hibernating, wound around each other in some den?

The ground is littered with acorns, making walking dangerous for the unwary. I pick up empty caps and save them for the fairy houses I hope to make this winter. Perhaps I’ll also scoop up some of the acorns and set them aside to throw out when the winter snow has hidden all other food. I know the blue jays and the squirrels will enjoy them. I wonder if a bear or deer will come by tonight to feast on the acorns. Surely this is food they need to help them fatten up before winter comes.

The pine trees look so odd at this time of year. The old needles are turning brown. Before they fall off, they make a sad contrast to the green of the new needles at the ends of the branches. Once they are gone, the tree looks fine again, the spaces simply dark, not empty.

The needles fall on the lawn and the creeping thyme and the driveway and we rake them up. Some I’ll use in the compost bin throughout the winter to balance out the wet greens from the kitchen. Others I’ll save for an experiment in discouraging slugs from getting to the green beans. Some needles fall among the leaves under the trees and these we leave to compost and give back nutrients to the soil. The lush pile of colored leaves and brown needles are Mother Nature’s own fertilizer, one that has worked well for millennia. I kneel down to smell the aroma of earth and fall and the promise of regrowth come spring.

The air is chilly now. A frost has been predicted for tonight. My outdoor tasks for today are done. It’s time to freeze some raspberries.

By Susan M. Poirier, Master Gardener