The crunch underfoot provided the first real hint of fall. Dead leaves had drifted down from the trees — not the wild colors we longed for, but brown, depressing leaves. At least, underfoot they sounded like fall.

Wildlife continues to entertain Dick and me, or perhaps more aptly stated, wildlife continues to astonish us.

Most afternoons, despite the lingering summer heat, Dick and I stroll across the lawn, the grass for the last few weeks crunching beneath our feet. Our destination is the grape arbor where muscadines hang in sweet clusters beneath the shady vines.

According to meteorological accounting, fall arrived this past Sunday. At this time of year, I prefer to live by a calendar ruled strictly by the occurrence of equinoxes and solstices.

I have long believed that when all other plant life is gone, kudzu will remain, perhaps accompanied by poison ivy and non-native honeysuckle. I am now convinced morning glory vines will hang in there with the others.

July slipped away and August stepped onto the stage with barely a ripple from the audience — at least that almost unnoticed change was true for the Green household.

The battle against the mice has abated a bit. Dick and I finally resorted to old-fashioned wooden spring-type traps, the kind we grew up using. We managed to catch two mice, both in the same spot beneath the kitchen sink.

The battle has started early this year. Ordinarily, mice don’t find our house inviting until cold weather drives them from the fields.

To paraphrase Charles Dickens, it was the best of days, it was the worst of days.

The dry days of late May had an unexpected benefit. Despite the damage the drought did to the grass, it brought a welcome visitor to the bird bath.

Few things are more pleasant than an early summer morning spent weeding the herb bed, the aroma of rosemary and sage rising around me each time I brush against the bushes.

I lose track of the various winters our part of the world experiences.

Spring brings to life more than trees, shrubs, flowers and vegetable plants. With warm weather, the animal population on our hilltop is awakening and venturing out.

I should never venture out into the yard this time of year without taking along a pair of gardening gloves.

As if to remind me no season of the year is perfect, the ticks have begun their annual feasting on my body.

I’m happy to report that despite rainy weather and our recent cold spell the early spring garden is on its way.

Like many of you, Dick and I are still drying out from the torrential downpour of a week-and-a-half ago. Despite living on top of a hill, we had standing water around our lawn and a flooded cellar.

To everything there is a season, the writer of Ecclesiastes declares, and it appears lately the season for daffodils to bloom is mid- to late-February. I’ve decided to learn from the wisdom of the ages and to quit stewing over what seem to me unseasonable occurrences in nature.

A bouquet of daffodils for my birthday a few days ago was almost a reality.

When the last guest has gone home, the final gift bag has been emptied, the refrigerator that once held so many surprises is littered with leftovers, greenery that smelled good and enlivened the house for several weeks has begun to turn brown around the edges and decorations that looked beau…

It’s that time of year again. While snow or sleet may pile up outside, a happier accumulation is taking place indoors. The annual avalanche of seed catalogs has been underway for several weeks now, and what a welcome inundation it is.

The day after Christmas feels like a lull in the fast-paced lives we live.

As I write this, snow is falling in large wet flakes. The juniper bush, boxwoods and nandinas cradle snow clumps along their limbs, and the baskets of evergreens that decorate our front stoop during the Christmas season are frosted with the white stuff.

Only now has November begun to live up to Thomas Hood’s poetic description: “No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, / No comfortable feel in any member — / No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, / No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! / November!”

I had thought this might be a column lamenting the lack of fall color. However, as we knew would happen sooner or later — and this year it turned out to be much later — the trees are taking on their autumn hues.

Now is the season for picking burrs and other seeds off socks, pants and shirt sleeves before the garments go into the laundry.

If summer must exit the stage, I can think of no better month to which to relinquish the spotlight than October.

The bad news was tempered with a little good. I read recently that ladybugs, stink bugs, kudzu bugs and boxelder bugs are currently in search of ways into our dwellings where they can safely ride out the winter storms.

It’s astonishing how rapidly the moon rises. Dick and I watched the August full moon over Watts Bar on the evening of Aug. 26. Within a few quick minutes, our view changed from a small spot of light on the horizon to a full orange moon riding low in the sky with a corresponding yellow pathwa…

It’s a bad sign when you go to the vegetable garden and find a morning glory vine has wound from the gate to the fence post where the gate latches.