Sinking into autumn

The dreary weather continued most of the week. We are finally seeing blue skies this afternoon. The leaves are finally turning.

The first leaves turning on the fifth oak in front of a low, grey sky

The turkeys are getting big, and the pullets are approaching full size.

Look how big the turkeys are getting!

We have lost our newbie enthusiasm for picking names. I’ve suggested naming the Barred Rocks after the Golden Girls—Blanche, Rose, and Dorothy. We’ll have to get the leg bands on before we can name them individually. 

Two of the three Barred Rocks. They all look alike

Hilda named the white Americauna Angelica, even though her attitude is not as pure as her color. The other two Americauna are not yet named. I’ve been thinking of Bella and Layla, just because I like those names. Haven’t run them past Hilda yet.   

The Americauna

We may have frost tonight. Finally. Enough is enough. We need to get the rest of the plants out of the garden and get that cleaned up. Terry has already rototilled most of the garden where the harvest was done.

The part of the garden formerly known as the pumpkin patch

The peppers and tomatoes remain plus a few beets and kohlrabi. 

Sad, bedraggled tomatoes and peppers

The Brussels sprouts will be better harvested after the frost. Folklore suggests that they are sweeter after a mild freeze. An observation that supports this belief is that I cooked some of the Brussels sprouts Wednesday evening, and they were a little bitter (but not resentful).  

In anticipation of the frost, Hilda went out to strip the remaining peppers and tomatoes today. Perhaps the weather will be less windy next weekend, and we can get out there and finish putting everything away.

This tiger swallowtail is one more sad sign of winter approaching. Its worn-out wings are at the point of being nearly useless. I hope it fulfilled its life function of passing genes to the next generation before it dies. So long, butterflies! See your babies next summer!

A tiger swallowtail with tattered, broken wings