I think autumn is the most nostalgic time of the year. This season glows with such intense colors but then fades away to bare landscapes, early dusks, and chilly temperatures. Transitioning to the cold winter always makes me yearn for gardens in bloom, late evening sunsets, fireflies, and lazy days by a pool. I trade summer activities for fall "musts": raking leaves, cutting back the garden, putting on storm windows, storing porch furniture, taking down the swing, and getting birdfeeders ready for winter feeding. I await the population of juncos, red-breasted nuthatches, and white-throated sparrows that signal winter.

To ward off seasonal blues, I have designed my yard to be colorfully cheerful until the last heavy frost. Hard maple trees were planted to bring brilliant reds and yellows, red buds with their glowing yellow canopy are in abundance, and sweet gums are almost psychedelic with their purple, red, and yellow leaves. The ginkgos hold their green leaves until the first heavy frost. Suddenly they're yellow, and then they abruptly drop their leaves all at once just like the Bradford pear trees. Dogwood trees blush a deep red and set their blossoms for the next growing year. The huge oaks slowly fade to rusty brown, producing an abundance of tiny acorns, contrasting with continuous green pines. Burning bushes accent the yard with dazzling red, and I enjoy the holly bushes setting their red berries for winter beauty.

I harvest the summer season's last herbs, freezing basil leaves for winter pasta dishes and steeping vodka with lemon verbena. I rarely dry herbs because I prefer commercial shakers of processed herbs. I move the rosemary in the house and hope that it will live through the winter months. I let the sage go dormant and cross my fingers that weather will stay mild enough that I can find leaves to dice into my Thanksgiving stuffing. Then I tidy up my herb garden so it's ready for spring.

I also add chrysanthemums and pansies to perk up the landscape. Placing pumpkins around the gardens and hanging colorful Indian corn on the doors almost seems like I'm invoking a talisman to defer the season's reality. I need color as long as possible. Yes, those first frosts find me covering anything still blooming with sheets and blankets for as long I as I can. Then one day, I just surrender to the inevitable. Luckily my game plan buoys me through the change, for I know after fall and winter will come another rebirth, another spring, and another summer.