Changing my garden slippers for my office shoes

There is a point every year when I realise that summer is ending.

It is rarely a particular date. There is no dramatic change overnight, and here in Spain September can still be very warm. Yesterday we had 34 degrees (93 f) The tomatoes are still hanging on the plants, the dahlias are flowering, and there are still plenty of jobs waiting for me in the garden.

Changing of the guards

But something changes.

This week, I changed my garden slippers for my office shoes.

And somehow, that made it official.

A summer spent mostly in the garden

My garden slippers have had quite a summer.

They have walked between tomato plants first thing in the morning, carried baskets of cucumbers back to the kitchen, been covered in soil while planting, splashed with water from the hose and probably stepped on more chicken poo than I care to think about.

For months, they have been the first thing I put on when I step outside.

Summer here has its own rhythm.

I get up early and walk around the garden before the heat arrives. I check what needs water, what has ripened overnight and what has inevitably decided to die despite receiving exactly the same treatment as the plant growing happily beside it.

There are vegetables to harvest, flowers to cut, chickens to feed and always, always something that needs doing.

Then suddenly September arrives.

The office shoes are back

After the looseness of summer, work starts settling back into its normal rhythm.

The holidays are over. Calendars fill up again. Meetings return. Emails multiply.

And the proper shoes come out of the wardrobe.

There is something slightly ridiculous about standing there in office clothes in the morning when, only a short distance away, my garden is carrying on as if nothing has happened.

The tomatoes do not care that I have a meeting.

The chickens certainly do not care.

And the weeds appear to be completely unaware of my working hours.

I leave one world in the morning and return to the other in the evening.

September is not quite autumn here

Growing up in Sweden, September meant autumn. There was no debate about it.

The evenings became noticeably darker, the air changed and summer quickly started packing its bags.

Here in Spain, September is much less decisive.

The afternoons can still feel like summer. The garden can still be dry and dusty. There are tomatoes, peppers and flowers everywhere, and I am certainly not putting away the watering hose just yet.

But the mornings tell a different story.

The light is softer. The sun comes up a little later. There can be a coolness in the air that wasn't there a few weeks ago.

After months of trying to keep plants alive through relentless heat, I suddenly find myself thinking about cabbage, peas, potatoes and the winter garden.

The garden is changing shifts too.

From growing to storing

There is another change happening inside the house.

During spring and early summer, so much of my attention is focused on producing food.

Sowing. Planting. Watering. Feeding. Protecting.

By September, more and more of that attention moves towards storing it.

Jars begin filling the pantry shelves. Potatoes are planted for winter. Tomatoes become sauces and paste. Peppers are preserved. Beans are dried. And while I am still harvesting this year's garden, I am already thinking about what we will eat several months from now.

I love that transition.

There is something deeply satisfying about looking at a garden at the end of summer and knowing that part of it will follow us into winter.

Not as plants, but as jars, bottles, dried beans, stored vegetables and meals waiting on pantry shelves.

I don't think I am ready to say goodbye to summer

Perhaps that is why September always feels a little bittersweet.

By August, I complain constantly about the heat.

I complain about watering.

I complain about vegetables ripening faster than I can preserve them.

I complain about mosquitoes, powdery mildew, spider mites and whatever new disaster has appeared overnight.

And then September arrives and I immediately become sentimental about summer ending.

Apparently, I am impossible to please.

But I don't think September needs to be a goodbye.

It is more of a changing of the guard.

The summer garden is slowly handing things over to the winter garden. The preserving season continues. The dahlias still have flowers to give me. There are still warm afternoons and dinners outside ahead of us.

Life simply starts moving at a different pace.

And for me, perhaps the clearest sign of all is sitting by the door.

The garden slippers are still there.

But beside them now are my office shoes.

And every morning I have to decide which version of my life I am stepping into.