The blueberries have disobligingly dropped all their leaves and are as bare as January, but the oakleaf hydrangea is gorgeous. At the top , a deep sort of mahogany plum that looks polished, beneath that a dark rich green with just a bit of plum wash. Same deal on the cranberry viburnums, except that their red is more toward the orange side. Best yellow is probably the peonies – or what’s left of them. Bill cut most of the foliage down some time ago, eager to get it onto the burn pile before it withered and shattered.
That would be the best yellow at our house. Out in the world the Norway maples are golden and glorious, almost – although not quite - enough to excuse their piggish ways. You really notice it in a year like this, when the leaf season is less than splendid, coming rapidly to a close without ever really getting started. Blasting heat and drought drove a lot of leaves into early senescence, then high winds and driving rains pummeled them down.
Depressingly, this highlights more than the maples: everything upright appears to sporting chartreuse festoons of bittersweet, whole hillsides are pink with euonymus. It’s one thing to know these invaders are taking over the countryside, quite another to have it demonstrated so forcefully. ( Like the color in autumn leaves, this stuff has been here all summer long, just waiting for the retreat of greenness to be a real sock in the face).
Meanwhile, plants that respond more to frost than to daylength are merrily green as ever. Just the other day I saw flowerbuds – nearly open flowerbuds! - on hollyhocks, rue, and tansy. The roses were going great guns until a week ago. And the Tristar strawberries I brought down from Maine , still in their big pots beside the back door, are drooping with almost-ripe fruit.