Yes; the fans are still in the windows, and the transoms remain open. But the oxblood lilies have come and gone, and leaves of anemones are beginning to make their appearance. It’s cool enough for the lantanas and the milkweed and the chiles to bloom again profusely.

Arising early or retiring very late in order to comply with the watering restrictions is no fun at all, so the downpours have been more welcome than it’s possible to say. Even with the best of efforts, the pleasure grounds have lost two old rose of Sharon shrubs and a good part of a mature redbud tree as a consequence of the summer’s stresses.

The City does appear to have spent some effort in enforcing the watering restrictions. Our one watering day under the new regimen has been Saturday, and on one of them, between 6 and 7 am, I observed a City vehicle just creeping along the curb and shining a police-type spotlight over lawns, seeking the telltale glisten of the Secret Soak.

There’ve been enough breaks in the heat that we’ve actually fired up the oven. No pizza or loaves of bread or popovers have yet emerged from it, but meatloaf has. We’ve brought out the deep cast-iron pot with the wire basket and enjoyed French fries at breakfast. We used a little of nearly every vegetable to enrich the first Sonoran pork stew of the season, and brought out the comal to heat up Margarita’s tortillas.

At this point, I don’t care if I never see a salad again. Food that’s been roasted, fried, baked, boiled, steamed, sauteed, stewed, simmered, broiled, and treated to every sort of application of heat is what I long for. I welcome every harbinger of fall!