We've arrived at that sentimental, pensive time of year, when summer has declined and fall has arrived and all the signals and symptoms remind us that winter is on the horizon. In the forest, trails are now liberally sprinkled with fallen foliage, the forest floor has absorbed most of its luxuriant green summer vegetation, and in our garden there has been a noticeable slump in the floral production, most of the perennials preparing for their long sleep.

The hydrangeas maintain their appearance, however, and roses are blooming their last hurrah of the summer, those faithful standbys. Most of our plentiful hostas remain in fine shape, their various types of foliage in shape, size, colour and texture an ongoing pleasure to view, along with the cold-hardy heucheras. The small hibiscus in the back is still pumping out its vibrant golden flowers of impressive size and presentation.

The larger, more weather-hardened cultivar in the front garden has taken a rest in between its bloom season, but it has been busy the last month producing new flowerbuds which will soon bloom as its goodbye to summer.

The front lawn which had suffered such a disastrous dieback from the activity of the Japanese beetle grub infestation has been transformed by the second grass seeding my husband applied with such high hopes a month earlier, to once again resemble a glowing green lawn. So that much at least has been accomplished in our ongoing battle with the Japanese beetles which had feasted heartily on our many rose shrubs in the past several years.

The begonias, such industrious little plants producing such gorgeous blooms, are still at it. In short order I'll be cutting them back, collecting the bulbs, shaking excess dirt off and storing them overwinter in the basement, to be re-planted in the spring. I'll do the same with the canna and calla lily roots, responsive to the same treatment.

I could save some of the flowerheads of those magnificent zinnias and marigolds that have brilliantly ornamented the front garden bed this summer to be liberally sprinkled over the same area come spring. It's something I used to do many decades ago when I first introduced myself to the craft of gardening. In the meantime, for the month we have left -- we hope that much, at least -- before serious night-time frosts set in, we'll still enjoy whatever the garden produces.