We’ve passed the autumnal equinox and summer is officially over.

I’ve been noticing signs of the changing season. Later sunrise. Earlier sunset. Hints of color on the trees.

I’ve been picking up acorns on my walks and planning where I’ll plant my seed garlic.

My garden is still hanging in there. Colorful and overflowing its beds, even if some of the plants are finished for the year.

It’s not the prettiest time in the garden but I’m loving this space more than ever and finding so much joy in each and every flower.

I think the fact that soon it will all disappear is making my scruffy, end-of-season garden even sweeter to me.

I took these photos yesterday (all but the peaches), a damp and dreary morning.

Although the ground is wet in these photos, it wasn’t until last night that we had any real rain. Our area has been in an extreme to exceptional drought throughout the summer.

I’m a bit amazed by how good things look with how dry it’s been.

At this time in the season, I’m thinking about what I’ll do differently next year.

Actually, I do this all season long as I observe my plants. Sometimes I change my mind as the season progresses.

Early in the summer I doubted my choice of flowering begonias for many of my pots and planters. They were filled with flowers when I first planted them and then… nothing. What a disappointment.

But after a short rest, they filled out again and haven’t stopped blooming.

Their colors are so welcome. Especially now as the season comes to a close.

And the fragrance of this begonia hanging above the main garden gate continues to bring me joy each day, too.

I’m not sure if I’ll try to overwinter them or take some cuttings.

Although I’m not going to dig the Bishop’s Children Dahlia tubers (I’ll just plant more seeds next spring), I am planning on digging the others. They’ve been some of my favorite plants this summer and I know I want at least as many next year.

Somehow I never have enough zinnias, no matter how many I seem to plant.

Nasturtiums took over the garden this year. I thought I’d planted mounding types (these Butterscotch nasturtiums are supposed to be), but many spilled and rambled all over the garden, disregarding their seed packet descriptions.

Some, like the ones below, obscured my garden paths. I’ve cut them back multiple times and routinely tromp all over the plants, but they don’t seem to mind.

I’m grateful for the color they’re still bringing to the garden as everything winds down.

I’m grateful for all these late-season flowers. Not just for me, but for my garden visitors, too.

Bees. Butterflies. I still see hummingbirds every day, zooming from flower to flower.

My garden continues to feed me, too.

My peach harvest was amazing. The box below is only a fraction of my peaches. I ate them fresh, gave some away, baked peach upside-down cake and crisp and was still able to freeze six, gallon-size bags of fruit.

One of the branches on my peach tree broke and I’m contemplating how I’ll prune the rest of the tree in the spring.

I’m enjoying tomatoes, eggplant, herbs, kale. But although my summer-planted lettuce is beautiful (and it was supposed to be heat tolerant), it is too bitter to eat.

My summer-planted peas didn’t like the heat, either. If we have a long autumn it’s possible they’ll perk up and take off, but I’m not counting on it.

I’m also not sure if my late-planted lettuce, spinach, radishes and beets will have enough time to finish growing. I was proud of being on top of succession planting this summer, but so much depends on the weather.

Sometimes the weather does work in my favor. I noticed something very exciting when I was sitting on the deck the other day.

My giant pineapple sage plant is filled with buds.

The season often isn’t long enough for the plants to bloom here in Wisconsin. I grow it for its fragrance, but I wish I could also enjoy the beautiful flowers. As long as the frost doesn’t come too soon, I will. And so will the hummingbird stragglers.

I have many more thoughts about this year’s garden and ideas for next year’s.

It’s one of the joys of gardening. The thinking and planning and dreaming.

What garden joys are you savoring? What garden dreams are you dreaming?