I brought the basil in, and will be freezing pesto for those sunless winter days when nothing but a taste of summer will suffice until the sun returns. There are dried tomatoes in the pantry and several quarts of sauce in the deep freeze. I am boiling the last of the peppermint for iced tea. The onions and kale will remain in the ground well into the Fall, and new leaves will replace old compost before the snows settle in.
Putting the garden to bed is like leaving the beach for the last time at the end of the season, and I can't quite bear to do it. Not with tomatoes still growing fat on the vine, and tender green spinach, and morning glories turning their pale blue yes toward the sun until the first hard frost lays them down. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Each day until then a lingering taste of summer on the tongue.