Sunshine on my shoulders makes me…
The temperatures have officially broken, but I don’t have to tell you that. We are all finally outside, clutching at fall like it might disappear any moment, enjoying morning sweatshirts, windows open, lunch outside. Thank Heavens and the reluctant departure of the great Heat Dome of Tennessee— we made it, my friends!
My garden routine has shifted dramatically this fall, and it’s more noticeable than usual. Maybe it’s the fact that my garden got a refresh by our installation team. Osvaldo and crew removed my elderberry trees, added fresh gravel and two more beds, which means I’m fighting fewer mosquitos I get to ogle over the long, organized rows. Maybe my body, including my sun-crisped nose, was craving cooler weather, and now that we have it, I am reveling in it. Maybe it’s my age. I’m getting a tad bit more tired, and I move like caffeinating snail until 8. Real slow until appointments and deadlines force me into action.
Since the weather has turned, I have been dragging an old wicker chair off of my deck to seek a sunny spot in my front yard every morning. Every few days, the sun sits even lower in the sky, and I have to scooch my chair over a few more feet. But then I sit, eyes closed and chin tilted up, daring my neighbors to interrupt with small talk as I sit in my Mom’s dingy Mary Englebret sweatshirt.
When I’ve drained my cup, I head to the garden, but I don’t really do anything. Yes, I slowly remove the cloches that are protecting my cabbage from squirrels, and I methodically turn the leaves, smooshing cabbage worm eggs when I find them, but I’m seeing fewer cabbage moths as the nights get colder. Yes, I turn the water on, but I just set it to mist, prop it in the corner of my raised bed, and stare absently at all of the little water rainbows.
I’ll admit the whole month of September was a garden disappointment— my broccoli burned on day three. Animals dug up my Brussels sprouts. (TWICE!) Lettuce didn’t germinate. The heat left our fall gardens pretty barren. But last weekend’s rain woke up the seeds and the seedlings. I went to the garden last Saturday morning and radishes had germinated everywhere (I think I must have spilled the package.) My one remaining Romanesco now stands 10 inches tall and seems quite proud of himself for outlasting the heat. The garden seems to have turned a corner, and all of my hard work to keep it alive in September… well, let’s just say that I needed the vacation.
If you haven’t noticed by now, this is not an article to advise you how to garden. I just launched into a reflection on the fall, and how the garden allows us to come as we are. This week, I have been cleaning my office out and there are packets of seeds in my desk from 2016. When I escape the computer dungeon to wander my garden, I’ve been emptying entire expired packets of lettuce from Baker’s Creek into the corner of one raised bed. Instead of tagging it with a neat label, I just poke a nail through the seed packet and into the soil, hoping that they germinate before the seed packet fades entirely. And if they don’t germinate, that’s ok too. I tried my October hardest.
Still, it’s about to be garlic time, and I’ll try to refocus my energy on that in two weeks. I know that I need to harvest the final bundles of basil and roast the tomatoes. I’ll miss them soon, and I’ll kick myself for not filling the freezer. I imagine everyone feels kinda like that right now… knowing that we should be motivated to savor the last of summer, but finding ourselves pancaked in a sunny spot in the grass, unconcerned about the amount of rotting spaghetti sauce on the arch.
This makes me wonder what fall was like when my grandmother was gardening in Alabama. Did she can tomatoes with her bridge buddies? Maybe the Junior League of Linden, Alabama got together and pickled their late season okra? It does seem much more fun to gather a group of peelers, pickers and dish washers into one kitchen and just knock out the tiring tasks. Is that what a Saturday should look like for us gardeners? I wouldn’t mind it.
The TKG mission statement now says “We empower people in Middle Tennessee to grow organic food at home, helping them slow down, reconnect, and experience the magic of the garden.” It’s a worthy endeavor, right? Most people fight this slowing down idea tooth and nail, and I ordinarily have my dukes up, too. But this October, we can find a patch of sunshine and sip a cup of coffee. Start a canning group with your neighbors, and insist that everyone wear their grandmother’s ruffled apron. Ogle over your plants that made it through the heat and randomly toss lettuce, radish, turnip and beet seeds whereever you can find a spot. Slow down, find the lackadaisy. And don’t forget to plant your garlic.
Hardy geranium after the rain
