The Garden in Fruition

 

Autumn noun. From Latin autumnus:

1) The season between summer and winter comprising in the northern hemisphere the months of September, October and November, or as reckoned astronomically extending from the September equinox to the December solstice.

2) a period of maturity or incipient decline.

Merriam-Webster

Malus species

Malus species

For the most part I am enjoying this season, especially the fruits, some of which I can eat and others that I devour visually only. With fifty or so different apple trees at Flora Farm I usually eat two a day (apples, not trees) and have thus kept the doctor away. The feast begins in August and it will continue through December as I also have a couple of winter-apple trees. Apple crisp, apple sauce, apple juice – my cups runneth over. Besides the many dozens that we give away our deer encampment still gets its share. It's appropriate that the word fruit, from Latin fructus, is derived from frui, “to enjoy.” Indeed my extensive orchard has come into lustful fruition.

Diospyros kaki 'Izu'

Diospyros kaki
Drawing by Haruko Buchholz

Besides apples and pears in my fruitful orchard I have also added in recent years exotic persimmon (Diospyros kaki) cultivars such as 'Fuyu' and 'Izu'. I seem to relish them even more than does my Japanese wife and our two hybrid children, and I cannot fathom their indifference. True, you usually cannot just pick persimmons off their tree and consume them as easily as an apple, rather you gather in late October-to late November, then place them for an additional week or two at the kitchen or garage window...and then they will soften and become sweet and flavorful. In other words, when the fruitflies gather.

Crataegus calpodendron

Crataegus calpodendron

Recently my wife and I meandered through Portland's Hoyt Arboretum, a collection that houses a lot of interesting taxa, albeit mostly brush trees that I could never sell. One such specimen was Crataegus calpodendron which was previously documented by Linnaeus as C. tomentosa. In the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2019) it is described as a North American round-headed tree, “very floriferous, bearing orange-red, pear-shaped fruits.” The “haws” are edible, either raw or cooked, and have been used in pies and preserves, but the interior consists of up to five seeds that stick together as if they are one single spit-out seed. I cleaned off one pear and nibbled its side, but found it to be mushy and not at all delicious, but maybe the nearby slither of slugs was the primary turn-off. White flowers finally appear in June, therefore it is known as the “late” hawthorn, and with their somewhat decayed odour they attract midges which perform pollination.

Crataegus cuneata

Crataegus cuneata

Crataegus cuneata

Flora Japonica (1842) by Siebold/Zuccarini

I have never grown Crataegus calpodendron and I doubt that I'll ever seek it out, but I do have another, rather obscure hawthorn at Flora Farm, C. cuneata, which was gifted to me by the late Edsal Wood who used the Chinese species (Shan zha) for bonsai. It occurs in Japan as well and it was Siebold/Zuccarini who first described it in Flora Japonica in 1842. You won't find C. cuneata listed in the Hillier Manual, so I wonder if it is now considered a subspecies, perhaps of C. pinnatifida, but that's just my uneducated guess. I'll leave my label as is until I know more, but cuneata is derived from Latin cuneatus, from cuneus for “wedge,” in the sense that the leaf is narrowly triangular with the acute angle toward the base. I went back to my tree to examine the leaves more closely, but I don't find them to be so narrow, and they're more like a decent slice of pie, i.e. rather obovate. Hmm...now I'm not sure about my tree's identity at all – can anyone help?

Crataegus cuneata

Usually, when I discover that a tree in my collection is incorrect I'll throw it out, reasoning that I have plenty of known trees that I can replace it with. It's clearly a hawthorn, I can see that, and it's attractive for its spring flowers and autumn fruits, but my mystery tree is maybe the ugliest in the arboretum for the rest of the year. You can see from the photo above that it's a lichenous scramble, and it'll remain so throughout the long winter.

Crataegus monogyna 'Inermis Compacta' at the RBG, Edinburgh

Crataegus monogyna 'Inermis Compacta'

Crataegus monogyna 'Inermis Compacta'

I'm certain about the identity of Crataegus monogyna 'Compacta' aka 'Inermis Compacta' with the inermis part meaning “thornless.” I agree with Hillier that it's a “remarkable, dwarf form with stout, stiff, unarmed branches.” Well, except maybe not the “dwarf” accolade, as I had to cut down my original specimen when, after 15 years of age it outgrew its site and was too large to harvest from the middle of the garden. My decision was confirmed when I saw the enormous specimen in the rock garden at the RBG, Edinburgh about 20 years ago – is that behemoth still there? Other than its eventual size, 'Compacta' is a perfect garden tree with its cloud of fragrant blossoms in spring and its deep red fruits which develop in October and persist through much of the winter...to the delight of your garden's birds...

Staphylea pinnata

Staphylea pinnata

Staphylea pinnata

Back at the Hoyt Arboretum we passed a large suckering bush with mushy fruit beneath. Haruko wondered if a drunk was lurking behind it as the odour was sweetly offensive as in alcohol. My nose was cold and drippy and at first I couldn't smell anything, but as I bent closer to the fruit I caught the strong whiff too. A label was present, Staphylea pinnata, and I realized that I was looking at a leafless “European Bladdernut,” so named due to the seed capsule being bladder-like in appearance. I've never grown the species but it is considered “very ornamental” according to the North Carolina Extension Gardener's website. I grew further excited to read: “Seeds are eaten raw and said to taste like pistachios. The seeds are eaten by children in Germany.” Heck, I love pistachios too; I think I'll head back to the Hoyt to sample, and I'll be sure to report.

Mahonia aquifolium

Mahonia aquifolium

I have a number of Mahonia species in the collection and many are bearing fruit at this time. An Oregon native, M. aquifolium – indeed Oregon's state flower – has been edibly in fruit since late August and I often pop one in my mouth when hiking in the woods. Be sure, I don't totally eat and swallow the tart pulp, I just suck on the sour juice like a hard candy. As children we would gather berries for my industrious grandmother who would add enough sugar to the fruit to make a very tasty jelly.

Mahonia x 'Arthur Menzies'

Mahonia x 'Arthur Menzies'

Mahonia x 'Arthur Menzies'

Another Mahonia with notable fruits is the hybrid x 'Arthur Menzies' (M. lomariifolia x M. japonica), while others claim the hybrid is M. beaei with M. lomariifolia. In any case it is a northwest USA favorite as it originated in Seattle's Washington Park Arboretum as a chance (hardy) seedling in 1961, and it is a most ornamental small upright tree with its bold textural form and ruggedly furrowed trunk. It is flowering now and the golden spikes attract the November-through-February hummingbirds – in fact I was buzzed as I approached the golden nectar-tree yesterday. As with M. aquifolium the fruit is edible for humans even after our avian companions have sucked their flower fill, but as with M. aquifolium: a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, medicine go down...in a most delightful way.

Berberis thunbergii 'Crimson Pygmy'

Berberis thunbergii 'Golden Nugget'

Mahonia is in the barberry family (Berberidaceae) as is Berberis, and the myriad of species of the latter produce (at least somewhat) edible fruit. The “European barberry” (Berberis vulgaris = “common”) is native to Eurasia and was originally imported into New England for its bark's nutritional qualities and medicinal uses, while the fruits contain significant amounts of Vitamin C, Malic acid and tannins. But, it is also considered invasive and it is a host of stem rust, a serious disease that hampers cereal crops. We have collected a number of Japanese barberry cultivars (B. thunbergii) which produce colorfully red fruits in autumn, and while you wouldn't want to eat a bowlfull, an individual berry is bitter, but sweet and definitely tart; in fact I put one in my mouth right now, giving me a jolt of Vit. C. Also the leaves of B. thunbergii can be consumed when cooked, so you can drink it as tea. The berries persist for months and they provide a nice, ornamental, sparkling feature when the sun shines on them in the winter 'scape.

Poncirus trifoliata 'Flying Dragon'

Poncirus trifoliata 'Flying Dragon'

On the path to my Berberis treat I passed a specimen of Citrus (formally Poncirus) trifoliata 'Flying Dragon', and the colorful fruits have turned from summer's green to autumn's bright yellow-orange. Though native to northern China and Korea it is commonly known as the “Japanese bitter-orange,” but I (for one) could never swallow even a small portion. Its use is ornamental, then, although it is also employed as a hardy (USDA zone 6) rootstock for sweet-orange production. The 'Flying Dragon' cultivar was selected for its more compact habit with exceedingly contorted stems, and combined with its stout formidable thorns it has served as an effective barrier-hedge at Oklahoma State University where it has kept drunken college students at bay for over 50 years. As with some of the other plants described in this blog, if sugarized (the rind) can be enjoyed as a candy and the flesh made into marmalade, and in Germany the fruit is stored for a two-week period, then made into a flavoring syrup.

Harriette Hatch with Rosa stylosa subsp. nevadensis

Rosa stylosa subsp. nevadensis

I'm not really a rose guy – maybe its the thorns that bother me – but I do appreciate the simple flowers of some of the species. Generally speaking, I hate the over-presentation of the gaudy hybrids, and even worse some of their names: 'Love and Peace', 'Miss Congeniality', 'Livin Easy' and 'Lawrence of Arabia' (really?) are some examples. Back to the species, I actually admire the hips as much as the flowers and our specimen of Rosa stylosa subsp. nevadensis has been putting on a hip-hip-hooray show for over a month now. No, it is not native to our USA state of Nevada, but rather to the Sierra Nevada in Spain. R. stylosa was originally classified as Prodromus florae hispanicae, another clue to its native range. The specific epithet stylosa comes from the Greek word stylo which means “having prominent styles” in reference to the female flower. A slender stalk called the style often connects the ovary and stigma. I've never actually eaten a rose fruit, but occasionally my wife will serve me rosehip tea citing its health benefits, that it is rich in antioxidants. Interestingly, plants from higher altitude tend to have higher antioxidant levels. You should know that fresh hips are more beneficial than dried ones or tea bags, or so claims healthline.com.

Rosa moyesii 'Regalia'

Rosa moyesii 'Regalia'

Rosa moyesii 'Regalia'

Rosa moyesii 'Geranium'

Rosa moyesii is represented in the collection with two cultivars: 'Regalia' with red flowers and 'Geranium' with orange flowers. A few hips were dangling from my 'Regalia', so for the sake of science I chewed a little bit, but spat it without swallowing. I could imagine a stomach ache by eating the whole thing. When my children were young, when they assumed I was the most incredible man on earth, I plucked off a rose hip and they followed me to the apple orchard. We compared the similar fruits and they were amazed that Rosa and Malus are in the same family, certainly more so than comparing apples with oranges. Then we went to the pear tree; aha – Pyrus looks to be Rosaceacious as well. Thus they had an early lesson in botany, and they didn't need a spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down.

Pyracantha 'Red Cushion'

Pyracantha angustifolia

Not surprisingly the fruit of Pyracantha (“firethorn”) is also edible and it is a common plant in the south of China. Pyracantha fortuneana, for example, contains a high level of vitamin C, and is also rich in organic acids, proteins and trace elements, or say various health nuts. I've never consumed any so I don't know personally, but I guess all members of the Rosaceae family are good for you. I should try a ripe fruit which supposedly tastes like apple, in fact it is commonly called a “pocket apple.” But, like with the Rosa genus one must deal with the vicious thorns.

Cotoneaster frigidus

Cotoneaster microphyllus 'Cooperi'

A more tame genus is Cotoneaster which is disparagingly called “cotton easter.” I won't be eating the fruit because it is a diuretic and laxative and I don't need either, but it is said to also decrease anxiety which I could probably use. The genus is native to Europe, Asia and even north Africa, and it includes species that hug the ground – to spreading shrubs – to small trees. The name is derived from Latin cotoneum for “quince” plus New Latin aster. The fruit is usually smaller than a quince, but in some cases the showy berries are nearly as large as walnuts. I regret that my career has mostly passed and that I gave little attention to Cotoneaster, especially the large, arching forms such as C. frigidus*. We used to grow C. bullatus 'Floribundus' which is similar in habit, but in that case we would train up 3-4' straight whips and top graft with dwarves and creepers such as C. microphyllus 'Cooperi' or C. apiculatus 'Tom Thumb'. I tired of that activity especially since supportive bamboo stakes were necessary, and after a year in the pot the stakes would rot and the top heads had a tendency to lean.

*Frigidus is Latin for “cold, chill, cool,” so I suppose the epithet is due to its origin in the Himalayan foothills. Who?...knows if that's correct.

Callicarpa japonica 'Leucocarpa'

Callicarpa japonica 'Leucocarpa'

Callicarpa japonica 'Leucocarpa'

I pass each day a stream of pearls along the arboretum road to our house, with tiny white beads clinging to arching branches of Callicarpa japonica 'Leucocarpa'. The supearlative “Japanese Beauty berry” is a deciduous shrub that goes without notice for most of the year, but from September through November – autumn indeed – the dangling stems glisten with their Oriental adornments. In fact the generic name Callicarpa comes from Greek kalos meaning “beautiful” and karpos meaning “fruit.” Hey, enjoy! Hillier described the species as “An attractive, small, compact shrub with oval leaves, pale pink flowers and violet fruits,” but with 'Leucocarpa' the flowers and fruits are pearly white. I had read in the past that Callicarpa is edible, or at least the American species C. americana, so I tried a handful of five 'Leucocarpa' but found them to be exceedingly gritty, and obviously requiring a top chef to make a decent recipe.

Mike Darcy

Mike Darcy is a local plant personality and avid gardener, and on his old radio show he interviewed an expert on Native American plant uses. The authority revealed that the leaves off Callicarpa can be rubbed on the skin as a mosquito repellent. Mike expressed delight and asked if it was as effective as the chemical repellents we use today, then chuckled when the answer was “No, not really.”

I can recommend Mike Darcy's weekly In the Garden blog, where he includes his experiences as well as his readers' plant stories and photos. Fun and very informational.

I'll lift a quote on Mike's blog from the nature writer Edwin Way Teale (1899-1980):

“How sad would be November if we had no knowledge of the spring.”

November Bluster

 

Many of us wondered if the world was truly ending last June (22^nd, 2021) when a heat dome developed over the Pacific Northwest, when temp records were smashed to a huge degree – pun intended. Yes, we scorched and were subdued by the infernal power, but those of us in agriculture/horticulture learned important lessons about the endurability of certain species and cultivars. Many plants succumbed in the 116F Big Fry, others cringed...but managed to survive mostly intact, while some cracked a wink and wondered what was the big fuss. The latter seemed to say, “We love the Hots as long as you give us enough water.”

Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'

Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'

In any case our world was over-warm, all probably the fault of the previous Trump Administration. Perhaps it was the heat-stress that produced an exceptional fall-color season, since thriving, luxurious deciduous trees often do not shine in autumn, as if a summer struggle is required for best performance. But sadly this year's splendid fun was short-lived as blustery wind and pelting rain blew most foliage out of sight. I and a number of visitors clicked digitals one day, aimed at our humongous Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku' (48 years old); like we had died and gone to an orange heaven, but the next day the leaves had flown...down the road.

Cercis canadensis 'Black Pearl'

We receive a finite number of seasons – never enough, especially since mine are mostly gone – but this nurseryman is spoiled more than the typical city slicker, for I have gathered the best species from around the world to humor myself while I grind out a living. Let's take a look at what I found this short fall, for I definitely feel I've received my money's worth.

Decaisnea fargesii

Decaisnea fargesii

Decaisnea fargesii is a multi-stemmed deciduous shrub from China and the Himalaya, and I have one planted at the southern end of the nursery, and I suppose my original start is now about 40 years old. The species is commonly known as “Dead-Man's Fingers”* since the metallic-blue bean pods are weirdly squishy and liquidous, but I wouldn't know – I've never handled a dead man. The pulp inside the bean – but not the seed – is somewhat sweet, and in its native lands it is a food source. In Sikkim in the Himalayan foothills I saw baskets of pods, but the locals (Lepcha tribe) couldn't fathom my interest in them so I didn't learn much. I wanted to know if the latexy gum was eaten straight, or if it was mixed with rice or something else to be more palatable. Our office manager Eric Lucas sampled the “fruity” liquid and discovered that his lips were stuck together, as if pasted with a super-glue. I was fascinated, but didn't want to duplicate his experiment. Aficionados of horticultural history know that the generic name honors Joseph Decaisne (1807-1882), the French botanist who was director of the illustrious Jardin des Plantes in Paris, while the specific epithet honors the French missionary Pere Paul Guillaume Farges (1844-1912) who discovered the species in China. The two photos above were taken 10 seconds apart and obviously from different angles, but I'm impressed that the plant is rendered so photographically different depending on the available light. The image closest to this text is my favorite due to its impressionistic obscurity, which is more or less how I'd describe myself should I ever write my autobiography (which I won't).

Decaisnea fargesii

Decaisnea fargesii

Decaisnea fargesii

*Also known as the “Blue Sausage Bush.”

Lindera obtusiloba

Lindera obtusiloba

Lindera is a genus of deciduous shrubs/small trees that, frankly, will never rate on anybody's top list of essential garden inclusions. I guess that's because the flowers aren't much, at least individually, but en mass some of the one hundred or so species can display an impressive cloud of color, especially with L. obtusiloba from China, Korea and Japan. At one time named Lindera cercidifolia Hemsley for its roundish leaves, nevertheless it presents three distinct lobes. The interesting orbs turn butter-yellow – not sort of, but really Yellow – in autumn. Back to the spring flowers, though, for L. obtusiloba's puffs of simple light yellow are remarkably similar to those of Cornus mas, the “Cornelian cherry,” and besides they both flower in our garden at the same time (March). Every year I cut a twig of each and bring them into the office and challenge my light-weight computer-nerd paper-pushers to identify them. They groan and ignore my annual challenge...wishing that I would leave them alone, but I do it because I can't tell one from the other either. I repeat to myself, “Ok Buchholz: Cornus left hand, Lindera right, Cornus left, Lindera right.”

Lindera species

Lindera species

Lindera species

...But then there's other Lindera species, a hundred I said, though all of them lesser known than L. obtusiloba. So lesser known that I don't know one from the other either. I acquired various species from niche-shrub vendors – L. umbellata, L. rubronervia, L. glauca and L. erythrocarpa as examples, but I could never keep them straight without their identification labels, and since my mindless crew was far less than diligent I will never be able to accurately identify the shrub above. Our resident beavers aren't at all concerned, as every few years the branches are gnawed to the ground, whatever their nomen. Well, it sprawls at pond's edge and I can't blame the rodents' urge to eat or make their houses with the brush. The Lindera genus was named by the Swedish naturalist Karl Peter von Thunberg (who was an “apostle” of Linnaeus) and he named it for his contemporary Johann Linder (1676-1723), a Swedish physician and botanist.

Ginkgo biloba 'Autumn Gold'

Ginkgo biloba 'Autumn Gold'

Ginkgo biloba 'Autumn Gold'

Also at pond's edge are three Ginkgo biloba 'Autumn Gold', in a little section labeled the “Ginkgo Corner.” All three of the alleged-male clone produce seed – they've gone fruity one could say. I've written about the phenomena before, and I've read a little about ginkgoes' trans inclinations, but no one in the Flora Wonder readership has ever commented about the male trees producing seed. Three out of three, no less. I like the novelty of it, especially since the 40-year-old culprits with their smelly fruits are at the far edge of the property where no one usually goes.

Ginkgo biloba 'Variegata'

Ginkgo biloba 'Variegata'

Keeping the 'Autumn Gold' company is one tree of Ginkgo biloba 'Variegata', a “group” according to The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2019) that is “slow-growing and very prone to reversion.” Sir Harold Hillier's son – I guess Robert – visited the nursery about 20 years ago; he was with a British plant tour group, but I didn't know he was present until they were ready to board the bus and leave. He seemed to enjoy our collection, but mostly wanted to ask about my variegated ginkgo. I told him its story, that it reverted completely – not just a branch or two, but the entire tree. One spring it leaved out completely green, all of it, when the previous spring it was full of cream-white portions on nearly every leaf. I gave it 5 or 6 years, then planted the damn thing down by the pond. After existing devoid of variegation I made the comment to more than one plantsman that “once 'Variegata' reverts it will never come back.” But lo and behold, a small branch did sprout with a rich amount of variegation, so the color juice was still in it. I cut off the green portion completely a couple of years later, and though a somewhat misshapen branch-tree, it remains variegated to this day, and I invite any Hillier to come see it. But not today – all of the leaves are gone.

Sassafras tsumu

Sassafras tsumu

Sassafras tsumu

Leaves are also gone on my one specimen of Sassafras tsumu (or tzumu) but they were a brilliant orange-red two weeks ago. Strangely Hillier's Manual only lists the American Sassafras, albidum, but I've seen its Chinese counterpart – known as Cha mu – in various collections and it is plenty hardy in Oregon. To my untrained eye the two species look identical, but I've read that “molecular data supports some differences,” and furthermore, S. albidum (from eastern USA) is dioecious while S. tsuma is monoecious. Both species can display one, two or three-lobed leaves, but tsumu supports more three-lobers than S. albidum. According to the J.C. Raulston Arboretum, the quirky S. tsumu: “On occasion, typically male plants will put out some female flowers and form fruit...” just like with my free-flowing Ginkgo biloba 'Autumn Gold'; and guess what: both genera can be found down at the Ginkgo Corner. What a crazy/fun place that is?! As I have implied before I love the world's mix-ups – for they keep our imagination/reality on its toes.

Viburnum opulus 'Aureum'

Viburnum opulus 'Aureum'

Viburnum opulus 'Aureum'

Viburnum opulus 'Aureum'

In the same “crazy” Corner is an old specimen of Viburnum opulus 'Aureum', a bush I love but one I doubt that any of my employees or most of my customers have ever noticed or would be able to identify. Why? – why I have developed such a life with an obsession for obscure plants I don't know, but maybe you can fathom for yourself from the photos above. Hillier says that the “water elder”* is a large vigorous shrub with maple-like leaves “which colour richly in autumn.” Of V. o. 'Aureum': “A striking form of compact habit with bright yellow leaves. Tends to burn in full sun.” My bush didn't burn at all in our 116F summer-inferno, and I suppose that's because it is sited in partial shade in a location with an upper water table...just to its liking. I wonder about its future though, because I can't be its protector forever, and while I'm confident that it will out-live me, will the new owner(s) ever notice it?

*The specific epithet opulus is from Gaulish opoplos for “maple,” possibly from Proto-Indo-European oku-olo meaning “sharp.”

Betula nigra 'Fox Valley'

Betula nigra 'Fox Valley'

In autumn I usually have fun with Betula nigra 'Fox Valley', both for its prominent, rustic trunk and also for its fantastic leaf-colour patterns, Yes, two are planted in the same general area as the shrubs mentioned above...in a corner where I appreciate to grow trees amongst the natural thickets. In fairly deep shade by the Cold Creek Rivulet I'm amused that both foxes lean very northward as they attempt to capture any southward sun. What an awkward situation, to lean...until eventually toppling over I suppose. I acquired 'Fox Valley' many years ago, then later another “River birch” cultivar, 'Little King'. But I was fooled because apparently we have two trade names for the same tree.

Phytolacca esculenta

Phytolacca esculenta

Phytolacca esculenta

I've grown the American “Pokeweed,” Phytolacca americana, and also the Asian version, P. esculenta. The specific epithet esculenta simply means “edible” or “good to eat.” But not so fast, my friend, since only young leaves should be used (like a spinach) for they become toxic with age. I planted the two species next to each other for I wanted to see for myself how they would differ, but the American species failed to emerge one spring. P. esculenta has thrived in the moist humus in the shade down by Cold Creek for 20 years, but I grow the perennial only for looks, not for food or medicinal purposes. The small berries ripen to shiny black in autumn, and I was careful that my children should stay away from them because I didn't know what effect they might have. My pokes were sited near our native Sambucus, which is S. nigra subsp. cerulea and when the kids asked if the elderberry was edible (it is) I said no, “Never eat anything black!” The common name of pokeweed is derived from the Virginian Algonquin tribe uppowoc, then later the poke was a shortened form of puccoon, the name of a plant used for dyeing, and indeed the berries are said to make an ink. The generic name phytolacca is from Greek putov (phyton) meaning “plant,” and the Latin lacca, a red dye. Poke Salad Annie is a 1968 song written and performed by Tony Joe White, with its lyrics describing the life of a poor rural Southern girl, and was eventually covered by Elvis Presley.

Acer circinatum

Acer circinatum

All of the plants discussed in this blog reside at the bottom, west end of the nursery, kind of a wild outpost compared to the more tended gardens up above. I'll finish though with a couple of Acer circinatum bushes that have kept their colorful leaves throughout the November bluster. They are not growing on my property but I pass them 2-4 times per day on my drive from home to work. The two are located ten feet apart as a hillside understory where they receive some respite from the wind and rain. They are on a curvy portion of the road with no shoulder, where it would be too dangerous to get out of the car for closeups, so I took the pictures out the car window, hoping that a truck or school bus wouldn't smash into me. I escaped harm but I feel like I deserve hazard pay.

The word bluster is from Middle Low German blusteren, meaning a “violent, boisterous blowing.”

“When autumn blusters the orchard rocks.” -Robert Browning.

“The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools.” -Henry Beston

“Autumn, the year's last loveliest smile.” -William Cullen Bryant

“Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.” -Jim Bishop

Stormy view through the kitchen window.