I love having a garden, particularly as the seasons change. On the store shelves, October is all about pumpkins and squash; the cooking section of The New York Times has moved on to cool-weather comfort food, and Trader Joe is fully invested in the ubiquitous “pumpkin spice.” But even as I mourn the passing of lazy beach days, long evenings on the tennis court and the blissful swimming season (though I did take a dip in the ocean just a couple of weekends back!), culinarily, I am still in summer mode, digging up every recipe I can find for the steadfastly lavish basil patch and the tomatoes and cucumbers that persist in dangling from the vine. It’s not that I don’t love fall; I just can’t stand to waste any of that glorious bounty, and cooking my fresh pickings into an autumnal stew or casserole just doesn’t give the summer flavors their full due.
The garden has been generous with flower season too. The Michaelmas and Montauk daisies have come and gone, and the hydrangeas have donned their faded end-of-season russet-and-slate-blue look, but the snapdragons, sweet peas and zinnias are still entrenched in summer mode, growing so heartily that it’s hard to fight past them to get in the front door. Even the driveway forsythia has gotten into the act, capriciously garbing itself in its bright-yellow, early-spring finery. Maybe it’s Mother Nature’s way of holding my hand while I say goodbye to one season and prepare myself to welcome the next. My beloved “Uncle” Milburn Smith, brilliant author of plays and musicals, included in his musical Uncle King Arthur a song for the aging title character that captured the preciousness of passing time. It went like this:
Just a year ago — no count again!
It's more like twelve ... or four times ten —
There was a boy.
And he was convinced July would last
At least a year, but when it passed
Made no complaint.
As I remember,
There were trout streams in July
But snow in December.
Each season had its joy,
A time to sing
How he loved to be a boy
And asked no other thing.
That's all there is to tell of him.
They made him king.
Alas, I don’t have a recording of the lovely melody that went with those words to upload to this post. Instead, I offer a playlist of songs that conjure the varied beauties of all the growing seasons.
Fritz: Suzel, good day! The voice of a cheerful nightingale awakened me.
Suzel: What do you mean?
Fritz: Your singing pleases me.
Suzel: Oh, sir, I sing just as it comes from my heart.
Fritz: Are those flowers for me?
Suzel: I gathered them for you, and besides the flowers, I have a surprise ready for you.
Fritz: A delicacy, for sure!
Suzel: Cherries!
Fritz: Cherries? Are they already ripe?
Suzel: They have a vivid purple color They're ripe and sweet.
Fritz: Like a flower of spring, fragrant and rosy.
Suzel: I'm ready to pick a small bushel. Shall I throw them to you?
Fritz: Throw them right away, lovely little bird. I will know how to catch them.
They are still sparkling with the late frost, covered with dewdrops.
But is it from that tree that, at dawn, the sparrow chirps?
Suzel: Yes, from that tree.
Fritz: Can you know understand what they say?
Suzel: I know: he is happy, he murmurs in his song. On the blossoming branches sit his little ones. They wait for him with light hearts, frolicking playfully among the hawthorns, among the white flowers.
Fritz: How well you interpret his song!
Suzel: They seem to be talking. They seem to be greeting, along with the flowers, the rays of dawn.
Fritz: How well you interpret his song!
Everything is silent, yet everything speaks to my heart. This peace — apart from here, where can I find it? You are beautiful, oh Springtime! Flowers and loves renew themselves in the sweet April.
Suzel: What enchantment in the awakening of every flower! Laughter and tears, everything is a palpitation of love! The whole mettle is mottled like a carpet. To the lord rises up the hymn of every heart!
JANE: The sun ascends; he rises, he mounts.
JANE, LUCAS: He's near, he comes.
JANE, LUCAS, SIMON: He glows, he shines.
CHORUS: With rays of piercing light
he bursts in glowing majesty.
Hail, thou glorious sun!
Thou source of light and life, all hail!
Hail, thou glorious sun!
Sublime and universal orb,
this earth's pervading soul,
creation cries, all hail!
JANE, LUCAS, SIMON: Who can express the pure delight
Thy cheerful presence yields to man?
Or who can tell the countless blessings
that from thy rays the earth receives?
CHORUS: The delights, oh who speaks them out?
The blessings, oh who numbers them?
Who speaks them out, who numbers them? Who?
JANE: To thee we owe what brings delight.
LUCAS: To thee we owe what cheers the heart.
SIMON: To thee we owe what gives support.
JANE, LUCAS, SIMON: But unto God Himself we owe
the power thy beams display.
CHORUS: Hail! Thou glorious sun!
Thjou source of light and life, all hail!
Let shouts of joy resound
thy name throughout all the world.
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