We are heading into week six without any appreciable rainfall. That is a first for my time on the mountain. There has been some random spit now and again. It hasn't been enough to break the worsening desiccation. Dew and fog are my new best friends.
All things considered, except for the cow obliterated parts, the wild cultivated gardens are putting on a very good end of season show. I'm impressed when I ignore the wilted look.
The asters are in full bloom.
The Tall Flower Meadow is looking much better in drought this year than it did last year squashed by a nasty storm.
In the first light of morning and low light of days end, it is looking quite stunning.
For the last week it has been humming with flocks of a small greenish finch like bird. They look like they should be seed eaters, but they have been focusing on the still blooming goldenrod. I think they are eating bugs. I got plenty bugs.
I got plenty asters too. There are eight species by my current count, four white and four blue, not that any of them stick strictly to type.
The asters mingle everywhere.
Along the scenic byway, Pokeweed and asters are there for those who drive slow.
My editing efforts ended months ago. It becomes particularly evident at this time of year that I am not in control.
That fundamental truth will always nag at my maintenance gardener self. I am fortunate to live in a place where I can let it be so. I am fortunate that with a little direction, nature is willing to provide an ample reward.
I'm loving my new Tatarian Aster. It is more of a purple and the petals have an extra twist and shout about them.
Now live long and prosper. I wonder if they will set viable seed. I saw the bumblebees on them today.
This white aster is currently unknown. I don't feel like searching to find a name for it. My mind and my body are in need of rest.
Two nights in a row two certain someone's kept waking me up through the night. Last night I was in bed at eight thirty.
There is an ominous sign across the scenic byway on my neighbor's scalped hillside of grass. Along with the recent cow prints, there are now dozens of small to large holes in the grass where the sod has been lifted. It is too much for the wild chickens and the turkeys generally don't do that. It would take a herd of skunks to make that many pukas.
I have a bad feeling. I think the feral pigs are near. I've been doing pig research. I'll need more rest.