Under the influence of San Francisco Bay, the Oakland autumn plays itself out in a way that will seem very strange to people in most other parts of the US. September is apt to be sunny and warm (even hot); it is more like summer than our actual summer months, which are kept cool by influences from the ocean. October is also warm; but with the gradually shortening days and lengthening nights, one begins to feel that autumn is indeed in progress. Leaf drop begins in earnest, hastened this year by our prolonged drought. The month is summer and autumn rolled into one. Only in November (El Niño consenting) can we expect the rainy season to set in. Even then, there will probably be no weather cold enough to leave a trace of morning frost until late December.

Still, with plants from so many parts of the world growing here, the garden looks like autumn. Tuberous begonias have dropped their flowers and are beginning to drain the energy from their foliage. The leaves of the apricot tree are turning the same red-tinged gold that one hopes to see again in next year’s fruit. Everything is slowing down. A few pots of chrysanthemums add color here and there. A couple of Sedum sieboldii have put on their dusty pink flowers, a perfect compliment to their grey green leaves.

There is harvest, too. The year gave us a bountiful crop of quinces: some turned into membrillo (my first try at it), some into a tasty stew with lamb, some into pie, some frozen for future needs. The fig tree, gift long ago from Father Tom Schultz, OHS, has at last settled in enough to give us a bounty of figs, including enough for the squirrels as well. (Good thing, since they get their share first, of course.) The’ve made for thiis autumn’s particular treat—splitting them and grilling them briefly over charcoal to go with whatever else was cooking there.

Still, autumn brings plenty of garden work. The Oscularia have expanded exuberantly and need cropping back before they completely overrun the path. (In the late spring, they will put on a show much like the Sedum sieboldiii, but with more intensely pink flowers.) Lavenders need pruning. The quince and apricot and fig will need it, too; but that will wait till they’ve dropped their leaves.

There will be bulbs to plant soon as well—and always the challenge of finding the right places: where they can be enjoyed from the windows while the spring is still cold, but where they’ll be out of the way of other projects. The thing about bulbs is that I always forget where I’ve planted them, making them a great surprise when they come up. My reward at the moment: a small clump of autumn crocuses (Crocus sativa, the kind from which Spanish saffron is made) in full bloom. Their comrades have all either perished or refuse to do anything more than send up leaves in the spring. For some reason, this clump alone has found the spot it likes.

It’s a pleasure to be in the garden on a cool October afternoon. Part of it is the relief from too much sun and heat, which wilt this septuagenarian pretty quickly. But the other part is simply the comfortable sense of being in the year’s late afternoon, a time of putting things away, settling toward dinner, evening, bedtime.