We've had a sweet preview of fall with two mornings in the high 50's.  Now that Barb is retired in Georgia,  she and I text each other from our porches in the morning comparing temperatures and hummingbird activities.  According to the Farmers Almanac, for every fog in August there will be a snowfall. She and Mike have had more foggy mornings than we've had on the mountain.  Since pickling the okra together, we've both been trying new recipes and pickling up a storm. 

Barb's bread and butter pickles and her yellow beans.

Today I pickled cauliflower and carrots and

made Italian pasta sauce with fresh picked basil.  The basil grew wonderfully this year.  No mold, no rot.  So much basil I froze some in olive oil cubes and just plain froze some single leaves that can be thrown in soups and sauces during the winter.

My green and yellow bush beans are about done producing.  I assumed the leaves were being consumed by insects until I spied Peter Rabbit trying to sneak away unnoticed last evening.  It's okay.  I've been picking beans daily for weeks.  Everything needs to come to an end, except me.  I'm far from ready to be plucked out of the earth and thrown into the woods.
Two of my offspring have the gardening bug.  Up in Ossipee, NH, Michael plants his garden every May and puts up beans in his winter cupboard.  Lauria and the children had a great garden this year in Virginia.

Her refrigerator pickles.
The garden will need cleaning in the next couple of weeks and a place ready for this year's garlic.  Planted a dozen last year.  They are so wonderful, I'll put in more this year.