September is a month that lives in two worlds at once. On one hand — morning mists weaving between the apple trees, golden sunlight at a low angle, and spiderwebs glistening in the dew like pearl necklaces. On the other — soil sticky as potter’s clay, wheelbarrows heaped with rubble, and whole days spent in work boots.
From the outside, my garden might look calm now, even idyllic.
But just step through the gate, and you feel that this is no idyll — it’s a proper construction site.
Soil, wheelbarrows, and a major renovation
The turn of summer into autumn is an intense period of gardening for me. While others slowly put away their rakes and shears, I grab a shovel. My goal is to expand one of the flowerbeds and create a new space in the garden — a plot for raised beds.
From dawn, you can hear the clink of shovels and other gardening tools used to organize the space. I strip the turf and set it aside where the future workshop will need to be raised by half a meter, needing about seven cubic meters of soil to level the floors. Once the turf is removed, I even out the surface, change the course of paths and borders, re-lay the paving stones, and finally mulch the expanded beds with pine bark — my favorite material for ornamental flowerbeds.
These tasks were far from easy, as removing the dry soil was no small feat. August had been dry — very dry, in fact — which turned the top layer of clay soil into something close to rock. Working with rocks is hard work, I can tell you that. Yet, it’s done. Careful, almost “archaeological” work transformed the old into the new — the expanded bed is ready and now just awaits October planting.
Garage, workshop, and major cleanups
Beyond the soil work in the beds, I’ve been working on the ground for a new garage. During the process, however, the planned garage site turned out to be needed for something else, as the location plan changed, so the garage will be built elsewhere. But the ground prepared in the previous spot is still very useful. Here, I recently played stone mason, chiseling larger blocks of stone and old foundations from the manure pit into aggregate to form the base of the area. There was plenty to do — my hands, honestly, were dead tired.
But that wasn’t all. The area in the barn for the future workshop still needed to be filled with soil. Here, work is already far advanced, and the soil is almost entirely in place. Someone might think it’s no big deal to just add some missing soil, but in the garden, I had to gather soil from one place and transport it to the barn. It took time, involved work in other areas and on other projects, so it couldn’t be done in a hurry. Yet, it’s done.
Cucumbers, jars, and the scent of childhood
But life isn’t only about shovels. Between hauling aggregates, I run to the beds to pick the last cucumbers of the summer sowing. They’re crisp, firm, green as emeralds, practically begging to be jarred.
I made a winter salad from them. In a vinegar and oil brine went chopped cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, garlic, peppers, and carrots. If you’re interested, I can share the recipe here — it’s tried and true, and the salad is delicious, perfect as a side for a main winter meal.
It’s not just cucumbers that are changing lately. Most work now goes into juices — raspberries, blackberries, soon grapes too. Apples will be used for compotes. This year, berry harvests are abundant — the pantry shelves are filling up fast. With such a stock of vitamins and nutrients, winter won’t scare me.
Mists, chill, and quiet anticipation
You can feel the chill already. It’s not winter cold — thankfully — but a clear change is happening. Soon, the equinox, and then the days will grow shorter. The sun will yield to the night and won’t warm the world as strongly during the day to keep evenings and early mornings pleasantly temperate.
Evenings, I step onto the terrace or balcony and simply watch. Mist drifts lazily through the valley, lamp light spills over wet leaves like honey, and the air has that special chill that whispers: “summer is over.” Spiderwebs shimmer in the grass as if someone scattered glitter. Everyone on Instagram is showing the golden hour, dried grasses, pumpkins in baskets, and the first sweaters — and I sometimes indulge in this aesthetic too, because there’s something soothing about it.
But in my head, I’m thinking of something else entirely: the longing for rain. For weeks, I’ve waited for real autumn rains — the kind that soak the leaves and penetrate deep into the soil, replenish the well, and let the earth breathe after that dry, exhausting August. It’s a bit like waiting for a guest who always arrives late but brings something good. Luckily, the rain has finally come in the last few days. I just wish it would return every other day.
September — not idyll, but beautiful chaos
Sometimes I look at pictures of my garden and chuckle. In the photos, everything seems calm: sunbeams on leaves, roses still blooming, cat paws against reddening grass. But in reality?
In reality, I’m running around with a wheelbarrow, shovel, a basket of cucumbers, and a camera in my pocket, trying to catch the mist before it vanishes. I haven’t had time to write — and maybe that’s a good thing. This is the time to dig hands into the soil, stir a ladle through simmering juice, sweep away the sawdust from tree cutting, and feel the charming chaos of the end of summer.
September is like an orchestra — every instrument plays something different, at a different pace, yet together they create a melody that gives you goosebumps. And although I’m exhausted at the end of the day, it feels like my favorite moment of the year: the turn between summer and autumn, when the garden is at its loudest, before it falls silent for the winter.