I think it’s safe to say, between these gusts and frosts and mists, our growing season is now drawing to a close. My tangled vines of squash and pumpkin are no longer putting out fresh yellow blossoms each morning. Tomatoes still hang from their stems, but only here and there do they turn red; the rest may need to be harvested green before they freeze, in which case I’ll happily fry them up to eat hot. The only crop that continues to mature is the corn, whose fuchsia tassels have drooped over ears grown long, firm, and strong. Soon the whole garden will have slowed itself into hibernation and I’ll help put it to bed for the winter.