Can you feel it? The shift? Sunday is the autumn equinox, when night and day will be almost exactly the same length. Summer is over; autumn and longer nights lie ahead.
For sun lovers, I know this is not a day to be celebrated, but this is my favourite part of the year. For one thing, it’s a magical time in our gardens. I recently returned from a holiday and fell in love with mine all over again; it was overgrown and indignant, with flowers elegantly swaying with the final energy of a summer’s growth – on the brink of teetering from their final triumph into seed.
I posted on Instagram that heady late summer has always been my preferred time in the garden, and found that lots of people agreed with me. “I was thinking the same this morning after five weeks doing nothing in the garden,” someone replied. It seems greenery unfurls beautifully at this time of year, regardless of how much effort you have or haven’t put into maintaining it.
April is about anticipation – all that hoping and waiting as to what the garden will be this year. June nearly boils over with pressure to tend, water and plant. By September, though, most of us gardeners have merrily given up. Things have either thrived or failed. We’ve either given into the slugs or found some kind of solution (mine, fairly early doors, is to let them at it). The drought or the floods will have done their worst, and the surviving surprises will stand for us to delight in.
It is at this time of year that I most enjoy my garden, invariably with a jumper on, watching the chewy autumn light catch in the steam of my tea.
And that is the most important work you’ll need to do in the garden in these first autumnal days: sit or stand there, feeling the yolky light and crisping air on your skin, and relishing it. There will be jobs to come, and the sturdy ones at this time of year are the ones I find most irresistible. You could lift and divide some of your larger perennials and redistribute them to save on plant bills next year. Or dust down the cold frame and sow hardy perennials – now is the perfect time for sweet peas. You could think about ordering mulch, ideally something organic – my preference is well-rotted horse manure or Dalefoot Lakeland Gold – or ponder whether your garden could accommodate another tree.
But this can wait for the days when you’re caught off-guard by early nightfall and the persistent drizzle. For now, the air smells good and the rosehips are fattening. Perhaps throw one final meal outside, especially if you can have a fire and have got enough blankets. This is a kind of last hurrah. Why not celebrate it?