Tragedy has struck: it’s September 1.
My depression at the dawn of slush season is deep, and can only be expressed fully through poetry.
“It fades–this green this lavish interval
This time of flowers and fruits,
Of melon ripe along the orchard wall,
Of sun and sails and wrinkled linen suits;
Time when the world seems rather plus than minus
And pollen tickles the allergic sinus.
The zinnia withers, mortal as the tulip.
Now from the dripping glass
I’ll sip no more the amateur mint julep
Nor dine al fresco on the alien grass;
Nor scale the height nor breast the truculent billow
Nor lay my head on any weekend pillow.“
To paraphrase Phillys McGinley: fall means no mint juleps, and certainly no “scaling the truculent billow” (ie swimming in harsh waves). Pinterest, unfortunately, tainted all my scaling and juleping by anticipating fall and winter as early as April.
Now, however, autumn pins no longer seem so out of place. They’re like a plague.
I’m not sure if this doorscape says “farmer with an inventory problem” or “Pottery Barn enthusiast with too much money and time.”
So, this door concept requires at least 15 squash, 100 apples, 40 corn stalks, 6 buckets and 4 hay bales. Antique pitchfork? It’ll set you back at least $100 at your local Pier 1.
Nothing says I’m connected with nature! Bow before my superior taste! like a contrived cornucopia of autumnosity all over your front porch. On the other hand, these displays do make a nice offering for local homeless folk, providing Vitamin A-packed meals that will last through ’til Halloween.
GET YOUR PUMPKINS, ladies. Your doors won’t decorate themselves.