Every time I walk around the yard or through the neighborhood with the dog, I see something blooming. Lots of things, in fact, not just mums. Without a killing frost there’s nothing to say, “quit it already” or “don’t bother trying.” Flowers are a little disconcerting given the general dishevelment of the landscape—the trees haven’t been similarly persuaded to hold onto their leaves. Added to that is my own impatience for fall to ripen into winter. As if a hard frost will make spring come faster... It won’t. Might as well enjoy the lingering spring-like weather.

It's spring-like in part because some of that season’s emblems are confused. It’s months too soon for petals to peek out of rhododendron buds and strange, if not unusual, to see the spring yellow of forsythia flowers against their own purple-black fall foliage. (Forsythia need little coaxing in the way of vernalization to give blooming a shot and open a few buds every fall.) It’s tempting to worry that premature flowering will destroy the spring show but I remember the December the crabapples bloomed and have no subsequent memory of a disappointing May. Worry in this case—in most cases—is an entirely optional killjoy.

I can only be amused by other denizens of spring and summer taking obvious advantage of the weather to try to set another quick batch of seeds. The wild strawberries may never ripen but I’ve got to hand it to stunted clusters of feverfew (Tanecetum parthenium) blooming in my back border, stemless oxeye daisies, ladybells dangling no more than six inches off the ground, and the most adorably miniature borage blooming its heart out in my front walk. Unfortunately, these plants’ short-and-sweetness isn’t a genetic anomaly that can be exploited for the latest trend in compact plants, rather an opportunistic adaptation to uncertain weather. There isn’t enough daylight to spend that energy on stems. Not with the bugbear of winter lurking around the next corner.

Other plants simply haven’t quit yet. Trumpet honeysuckle (Lonicera sempervirens ‘Major Wheeler’) gets the prize along with cranesbill Geranium ‘Rozanne’. Both have been blooming since they started back in May, was it? Or June. Either way, their stamina is impressive. While Rozanne has stretched its higgledy-piggledy stems (perfectly permissible where I have it growing through a trash-picked rattan chair) and gone to brown tatters underneath, the honeysuckle has been nothing but lovely with clusters of two-toned red trumpets at the end of every whip, and getting prettier by the day as its foliage yellows from the inside out. I can only hope migrating hummingbirds have been making pit stops at the fence on their way south.

More prizes should go to Daphne × transatlantica ‘Summer Ice’ and flowering tobacco. The daphne was so small when I planted it I had little hope it would survive. By some miracle it grew despite overcrowding and I have no memory of it ever taking a floral break. I almost wonder if it will thumb its nose at winter altogether. Can’t help also wondering the same about the stands of nicotiana that haven’t succumbed to shade or been run over by the lawn mower. A patch of purple, morphed from the ‘Lime Green’ I planted years ago, and the taller, daintier, more magical, burgundy throated and blue-pollen-dusted ‘Tinkerbell’ are blooming in the sunniest spots like it’s summer all over again.

I’m not fooled. The most obvious signs are still pointing to an inevitable winter, and I will try to welcome the break when it comes. Meanwhile though, I’m going to follow my plants’ example and take advantage of whatever days we have left of spring—I mean fall. Garden on.

Kristin Green is a Bristol-based gardener and author of 'Plantiful: Start Small, Grow Big with 150 Plants that Spread, Self-Sow, and Overwinter'. Follow her blog at trenchmanicure.com.