Today, Small Child and I saw our first V of geese.
A few days ago, a beautiful, giant full moon hung low in the sky.
Here and there, leaves go golden.
The squirrels have been frantic for a couple of weeks, and Large Dog has been in what can only be described as a manic state.
And exactly one year ago tonight, I wrote a post that ended with the words, “I wish it would rain,” words that crossed my mind endlessly today as my feet crunched across dry grass on cracked earth.
All signs point to autumn. To fall. To harvest.
But I’m anxious.
I have not been tending my garden lately. Since I began blogging 18 months ago, I’ve sown many seeds (consciously and otherwise). I grew weary of carrying water when the rains stopped. I’ve veered off into the easy subjects, partisan politics, sentiment-at-hand.
Honestly? I’m not even sure I remember what seeds I threw in which direction. I didn’t keep good records. Some plants looked promising but withered in the brutal summer sun. Others I just abandoned, too busy to water. Entire sections fell to mysterious blight. I put a few seed packets down and forgot about them; plants sprouted right out of the paper. The months have been that way.
The months have been so much that way that often many go by without a glance at the garden. But autumn forces the gaze.
Some of those seeds have grown into plants I really can’t ignore any longer, the kind that crack walkways, ruin foundations, choke out desirable species. The tough, spiny ones that can live without irrigation or attention. It’s time for me to face my fear of runaway vegetation. Gotta thin, prune, mulch.
I don’t think I’m the only one who feels this way. You only have to flip on the news or walk through a store to hear uneasiness, fear, and worry.
But not all gardeners have been dithering or wringing their hands. I admire their work.
One is seeing her children through transitions joyous and painful, making enormous sacrifices yet still finding time to laugh, play, create and be a wonderful friend.
Another has, in what most find a daunting economic climate, listened to his heart and birthed a second successful business that feeds his soul.
Yet another, who completely plowed under a marriage of many years and lost much in the process, found not only freedom but also a second go at love and parenthood.
Finally, a friend and fabulous writer with talent and discipline and wit persevered right into a two-book deal.
It’s been a heavy year, friends. I don’t know what I’m going to find out there when I pull on my gloves, pick up the shovel, and start digging. Somehow, I don’t think I’ll find succulent autumn vegetables, as much as I adore them.
Whatever I find, I’ll do my best to make it relevant and readable. If not, you can always toss it in the compost.