Autumn has a certain smell. I’d need to create a new word to describe it succinctly. Bits of dying or recently dead plants are churned in the air. Wind mixes up the dust and the you can smell the grass that is covered with morning dew. What ends up at your nostrils is the general smell of decay, in a good way.

Somewhere in that scent soup, an olfactory genius might track down the stench from the gunk stuck in the rain gutters.

If you’re looking for a job this weekend, cleaning out the rain gutters is a good bet. The worst time to clean out the gutters is when there is a river flowing over your windowsill and you need to don a Gorton’s Fisherman’s yellow jacket and climb up a slippery ladder.

Gloves are key for the rain gutter ordeal, because you never know what you’ll find in that thin, folded metal — rodent remnants, walnuts or small plastic balls tossed by the neighborhood children, for example. I’m sure the organic material is suitable for compost, but I’ve actually never added the gunk to my pile.

This is a gross job, and that is precisely why many of us avoid the task until spring.

The equivalent of rain gutter goo is the hairball that accumulates in the sink. Every so often, I’ll notice the sink is draining slowly. I know hair is down there  and will dig around in the drain with the tweezers until I find something I can grab. What comes up often looks like a partially decayed gerbil covered in gray slime. The smell is atrocious, but I’m lucky to have a delayed gag reflex.

Cleaning out rain gutters can be nearly as frightening as the sink.

Somewhere in my shed, I have a plastic scooper with a rectangular edge that is made specifically for rain gutter cleaning. Of course, I can never find the tool when it is needed, and end up using gloved hands or a gardening trowel. Then there’s the bucket problem. It’s tough to balance on the ladder, dig around with the trowel, fight the urge to gag and aim accurately at the bucket.

I’m thinking our city is fairly forward-thinking. I appreciate that we have a leaf pickup service during the fall. Couldn’t the city simply add a rain gutter cleaning service, timed just a few weeks before the first rain? Or better yet, we could create a ChicoCorps, with young people paid to provide community services, including rain gutter cleaning, compost turning and perhaps a timely fall rose pruning.

More to do

If you’re avoiding a really big task, like cleaning out the shed or rain gutter detail, now is a good time to put fallen leaves to good use.

A gal named Kim created a video that gives some tips on how to compost leaves in black plastic bags, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtAhA0SArmQ. I found the video last year and thought my students would have a great time crunching the leaves.

However, the fires raged through Northern California, and many good plans were delayed. By the time our class made it to the leaf detail in January, it had rained and the leaves were no longer crunchy. The students thought handling the soggy leaves was gross.

They were right, and I hope I haven’t ruined them for future tasks like cleaning out rain gutters.

We did manage to mash up about a quarter of a bag, which sat near the greenhouse until it was thrown away months later when I wasn’t looking.

In the video, Kim advises filling black plastic bags when the leaves are dry. Crunch the leaves, either with your hands or by rolling on the bag like a bean bag chair.

Poke holes in the bag with a stick and then soak the leaves with the hose. Set the bag in a sunny spot to create compost over time. When it’s time to spread the decayed leaves, they’ll be contained within the bag.

Of course, you can also rake leaves onto your compost pile, and turn the pile a few times over the winter. You can also simply let the leaves lay on the ground and deal with them next spring, about the time you get around to cleaning out the rain gutters.

One day when I look back on my personal history, I will remember this month as the time of the Great Shedding.

I’m grateful to have a shed, but I also know the great mess that a storage place can become. I’ve shoved so many things into that space, I’m surprised the fire marshal has not arrived to issue some sort of messy-shed citation. My 6’x8′ shabby shack contains enough accumulated junk to stock the future Sow There! Historical Museum.

Every so often, I need to actually retrieve something that has disappeared into the darkness.

Last spring, my class went camping. I needed my tent and sleeping bag, located somewhere in the abyss. Retrieval involved removal of umpteen plastic crates labeled with vague clues such as “childhood keepsakes,” “love letters” or “skinny clothes.” I think I may even have some Barbie dolls from third grade, buried so deeply, I’ll only find them when I move.

During the quest for the tent, I dragged most of the contents of the shed into the hot sun, shimmied past the ice chests and the aluminum ladder, and found the camp gear near the back.

When you need to find a tent, you never have time to actually re-organize the shed like a rational person. In my case, I replaced the contents as randomly as they had been removed, and slammed the door.

Of course, my main problem is lack of shed initiative. Yet, I’ll give myself a break.

Clearing out the unwanted goodies from the shed has been on my to-do list for two years.

There have been days when I have donned grubby clothes and turned the key in the sturdy lock. Yet, good intentions turned to mush with that first smell of grease. Before the Handsome Woodsman died, he stored his manly things in the shed. More than a few times, I have opened the door planning to “shed” some of the accumulated stuff but merely stood in the doorway and sobbed.

If I can’t part with my Barbies, how could I decide which of his fishing poles to donate? Buckets of abalone we gathered in Fort Bragg? Tubs labeled “Dave’s clothes?”

And then there is the “box of pain.” One day, I bravely gathered up things that hurt too much to view, but I couldn’t imagine throwing away. That box is my time capsule, which I will sort through when I am able.

Yet, life has a way of pushing you toward things you’ve avoided.

My teaching job was eliminated and I need to hang onto an entire classroom of teaching tools. Thirty boxes would not be an exaggeration. Ten of these contain children’s books.

I’m also holding onto two oak bookshelves from the classroom. When I hauled all the classroom tools home, my living room soon looked like the interior of the shed.

Samantha and Jeff lent me a corner of their storage unit, and two pillars of boxes now make less-than-decorative additions to my kitchen and living room.

If I could just make room in my shed …

I’m proud to say that I have not yet reached perfection, but I’ve made progress.

I won’t be unemployed long. In a few weeks, I begin a series of temporary jobs at the college. My goal is to land another teaching job for next year, when I’ll need those boxes of children’s books and dry erase pens.

Progress so far:

• • Two dump runs.
• • Three carloads of donations to the thrift store.

I even ventured into the tubs of Dave’s clothes, and “shed” a few of those physical reminders that can remain merely as memories.

There are more things to part with, but for now the progress feels good.

As a bonus, I discovered I own a power drill and a hedge trimmer.

I’m doing that thing that I do – holding onto things for longer than they are useful. Refusing to accept change. Cluttering my life.

The time of the ripe tomato has come and gone. It’s time to improve my soil and gear up to plant something new.

Many of my most recent columns have included a lengthy brag about the volume of cherry tomatoes gathered from the raised bed. Over the past two months, I have plucked and dehydrated so much fruit that I was willing to share with others. This spirit of plenty has created an urge to keep the plants past their prime of production.

Already, the wire cages have plopped over. I’ve killed two fat tomato hornworms, the presence of which is a sign of the end of the season. I could have yanked the plants last week when I filled a colander with round deliciousness.

Nope.

I’m holding on, trying to get one more batch for my food dehydrator, or maybe even a bowl of green tomatoes that I can ripen indoors.

Even without the daily buzz of bees, gardeners can help a tomato plant with pollination by tickling the stem a few inches below fresh flowers. These days, I find the wire cage under the tangle of vines and give the entire plant a fast-paced shake.

Gardeners who have a huge growing area have the luxury of letting plants die of natural causes. The leaves will become blackened once the nights turn very old.

However, I have a small growing area and could and should replace the tomatoes with a quick crop of lettuce, or plant spinach and kale for harvest in early spring.

The Chico Valley Area Planting Guide from the University of California, https://ucanr.edu/sites/bcmg/files/184803.pdf, also advises planting fava beans and peas in October.

Time for lime

About this time, I also add dolomite lime to the growing area. Years ago, Jerry Mendon recommended this extra step to prevent blossom end rot next summer. He urged me to add the lime in the fall, so the mineral can provide calcium and magnesium to the soil.

The Gardening Know How website, https://bit.ly/2MrkCiP, notes that the benefits of adding lime may take place as little as four weeks. However, it can take six to 12 months for the full impact on soil quality.

As for measurement, Jerry had recommended adding about one cup per 10 square feet in my garden bed.

Of course, this means taking out the tomato plants, tilling the soil, then raking the lime into the top two inches. Now.

Hold on

Maybe I’ll wait one more week. The extended weather forecast (https://wxch.nl/2Vuby0S) whispers of a bit of rain Oct. 17. This gives me time to harvest some mostly-red or green tomatoes to ripen indoors.

Indoor tomatoes won’t be as beautiful as those you pick and eat from the vine. However, my plan it to dry them, wrinkles and all. Place clean, less-than-ripe fruit in a shallow bowl or cardboard box top. Ruffle up a bunch of newspaper at the bottom, so each fruit is resting separately, with room for air. After a week or more, the fruit should ripen.

Some folks also delight in green tomato recipes.

Moving on

One more week, maybe 10 days … Soon the first real rains will arrive. If I hurry, I can grab fruit, yank the plants, add good soil to the raised bed, add lime and plant seeds for those fall and winter greens. Maybe I’ll plan a vacation – I’m unemployed these days. If I plant seed before I leave, I can hope for rain and return to seedlings when I return.

Job search

I’m holding my breath, but I think I have a line on some work to keep me busy until I apply for another full-time teaching position in the fall. Wish me luck and look expect good news soon.

Garden enthusiast Heather Hacking loves when you share what’s growing on. Reach out at sowtheregardencolumn@gmail.com, and snail mail, P.O. Box 5166, Chico CA 95927.

Cactus are not among my favorite garden plants. Boring. Prickly. Basically idle. Despite my view of them as mediocre, I have a cactus collection of more than two dozen. The plants have an advantage over the more fussy plants in my yard because they can live without me.

Most of my cacti include the night-bloomers that were a gift from the late Suzi Draper. Suzi invited me to her backyard many years ago when her backyard was filled with flowers from the mostly-dormant plants. By mostly, I mean these plants bloom for only one day, and then they have the audacity to put on their show at night.

Last year, I was too busy to notice the fuzzy protrusions that inched their way skyward from the prickly cactus cone. I came home one day and found the flaccid remains of what may have been an amazing, and brief show. The flowers smell like nothing else on this earth and attract night critters including pollinating moths.

Cacti aren’t kept because of their bloom. The flowers are a delightful surprise, as if beauty managed to sneak up on us. If you shop for a cactus at the downtown farmers market, you might think the plants are blooming all the time. Geffray’s Gardens — https://www.facebook.com/geffraysgardens — manages to display some of the best and the brightest. Why not sell them at the height of their beauty, when the buyer can enjoy the brief and beautiful color for a few days or more? However, the new cactus owner shouldn’t expect to see that again any time soon.

I think so.

We tend to appreciate things when they’re experienced only rarely, such as exorbitantly-priced tickets to a Pink concert, shooting stars, weddings, first kisses and Bigfoot sightings.

I think gardeners, and perhaps bird watchers, get to experience these fleeting “aha!” moments more often. We’re out there with our eyes open. We’re waiting for magic.

Last week, I was doing a routine once-through of the yard, hose in hand, mind appropriately somewhere else, when I came nose to needle with a rare-to-me cactus bloom. This was an entirely different plant than the descendants of the gift plant from Suzi Draper.

This particular cactus was a acquired from another reader, who invited me to see his cactus garden in the Chapman Neighborhood about 15 years ago. Once upon a time I plopped those cacti in a wheelbarrow filled with mostly sand and a bit of dirt.

The plant is certainly attractive, in its rugged way. Yet, this day it was glorious. The creamy, waxy petals were perfectly arranged, with a slightly different hue of petals creating the back row. In the center, tiny tentacles reached out, like the intense (yet fleeting) sparks of fireworks. The pattern of the interior seemed to invite me in, as if to say “Hey, I’m here. Now. Devour me.”

I did.

I was in a hurry that day, but I lingered. I grabbed my camera. I zoomed in to experience all this flower had to offer. As expected, the next day it was gone.

Ho hum. Nearby, the Vinca Rosea has been blooming all summer. The flowers keep fading and renewing. Every day I walk by. I nod, perhaps with appreciation, but not really.

That’s the way life is, I suppose. Something that will be gone tomorrow will receive more dedicated attention than a million roses on a faithful production schedule.

My grandmother traveled extensively. Could I get rid of her trinket from India – an inlaid mother-of-pearl image of the Taj Mahal? Could I part with my music box from childhood? A jar of ocean-smoothed glass from multiple visits to Fort Bragg? Have you been to glass beach lately? Tourists, like me, have picked it almost bare.

Did I mention my house is small? And yet, I still have the customary collection of “things” we keep in hidden proximity, such as Christmas ornaments, sentimental brick-a-brack and bad poetry from my teen years.

One night I came across the Netflix show “Tidying Up,” (www.netflix.com/title/80209379) with Marie Kondo. I must admit, I resented this woman from the start. She’s so sweet as she walks around other people’s homes, kindly pointing out how simple life would be if one would wear the same pink cardigan sweater four days a week, thus making room under the bed for neatly-arranged shoes.

At my house, I bought plastic risers to hoist my bed up 6 inches. This is where I store my winter wardrobe in plastic bins.

Sweet Marie goes into a solemn place as she suggests holding an item in your hands. If the miscellaneous belonging does not bring you joy, give it away, she urges. Maybe it will bring someone else joy. I’m guessing Marie tossed out all sense of sentimentality when she made her first million.

I’m easily pleased. Most things, especially my things, bring me joy.

Another helpful source recommends cleaning one section of a room at a time. You can’t stop cleaning until you have decided to give away at least five items. Paperclips and old copies of Via magazine don’t count.

I’ve tried this as well. The problem is, once I decide to toss five things, I stop cleaning.

Tomato hoarder

For several weeks now, I’ve been bragging about my amazing season of cherry tomatoes. I’ll credit my third-graders from last year, who undoubtedly planted those tomato seeds with love. So far, I’ve harvested enough cherry tomatoes to fill my food dehydrator (with five trays), three times. Children? What is 5 x 3? Yes, that’s 15 trays of dried tomatoes.

Of course, I’ve found it in my heart to be generous. I’ve decided a little jar of home-dried tomatoes is the best hostess gift. (This is indeed a hint that I would love to be invited to more end-of-the-summer barbecues). My largess has extended to my close family members, who may or may not appreciate the amazing goodness that dried cherry tomatoes can be.

I eat them like candy, one after another, from the jar.

Here are more ideas from the University of California Master Food Preservers of Orange County: (https://bit.ly/2mb9qxv)

• Add to deviled egg filling
• With scrambled eggs
• Garnish for any meal
• In batter of biscuits, cornbread or any other grain dough
• Puree the dried fruit and store as a powder, then mix with water when you need tomato paste. Sprinkle the dried goodness on tasteless tomatoes purchased in winter.
• I wonder how this would taste on popcorn!
• Tomato pesto. The recipe is basically the same as green pesto, but leave out the basil and add tomatoes.

All this, and you can see why I have come to become a tomato hoarder. With so many dried tomatoes on hand, I am really glad I did not give away great-grandmother’s cookie jar. When I found it in the back of the cupboard, it was the perfect vessel for this year’s ruby red, dried crop.