Goodbye Summer, don’t hurry back
/
by Antonia Hieronymus
Summer is over and Fall is here.
No more shorts and flip-flops,
No more lazy hazy languid days
No more the deep honking bass of the bullfrogs
No more coffee on the patio with a spectacular sunrise.
With the dwindling of summer comes the rising doubt:
Where did it go? Did I make the most of it? Was I a good steward of my garden?
There were times that pots looked wilted, and times when the weeds ran rampant. There were beds that never quite got fully planted, and seeds that were never sown.
We gardeners are masters of seeing what still needs doing, rather than appreciating the true beauty and bounty before us.
So, as I put the garden to bed for the winter, there’s a tinge of regret.
And there’s also a tinge of relief.
No more struggling to keep up with the watering
No more mosquito bites
No more weeding
Because I live in a temperate climate, I go through this cycle every year. By Spring I will be yearning to get out there and get my hands dirty and my back sore.
But what if I didn’t live in a state which has winter? What if I were in Zone 10 and never had a killing frost? Then I’d always have the languid, the honking and the outdoor coffee. And would I appreciate them? Probably not - friends in Arizona have pools which rarely see swimmers, whereas in contrast every year my kids plunged into the still-cold water on the much-anticipated pool opening day with shouts of glee and squeals of delight.
Summer is over and Fall is here. I will don my sweaters and fill the wood basket. Coziness will replace sweltering heat, and I’ll be happy to enjoy cider and doughnuts instead of watermelon and peaches.
After all, it’s the seasons that make gardening possible. I garden because I love that connection to the earth. I love being in touch with Nature, in all her forms. As my garden goes dormant and gets renewed in Spring, so does my enthusiasm for it. There is a reason for that long winter sleep of both my garden and my zeal for it, it is the old-as-time turning of the earth around the sun. It is fitting that I will ebb and flow with the ebbing and flowing of life itself.
Antonia gardens in Wayland, Mass.
You Might Also Like
