There are many sad truths in life. We find many of them in the garden, contributing to the melancholy way we feel in fall when our natural tendency is to do a retrospective similar to the way we view the timeline of the year at New Year’s. The same transitioning from one season to the next draws us into such thinking.
Actually, the inspiration for these thoughts came from the very mundane action of copying one of my older posts from here to the garden website. The sad truths of blogs are that they are even more ephemeral than most writing… the audience for blogs demands fresh new content and is loath to dig up past posts, unless a search engine happens to oblige. And so if there is a post which shouldn’t get lost in the jumble of daily writings, I have started to retrieve it and put it on the website.
But back to the beginning topic, the melancholy of my garden. Don’t you feel it, too? The promise of new growth and life and hope are replaced with the promise of decay, of the deep sleep and hoped for survival of cold winters. And unless you are deep in denial, you recognize the sorrow of that. I’ve read those who say they delight in the turn of life to death and all its natural circle, but I doubt them. I sincerely doubt that they are so resigned to such endings and I believe it is only in the hope of natures reprized thaw of spring and return of life that they are truly finding their delights.
Not that melancholic fading and demise don’t have their beauty. They do, but isn’t it in the full spectrum of remembering their beauty of bud and bloom, in their rivaling struggle to retain their tints of sugars and sap of the growing season? That we allow for the tints of death at all …all emptied as it becomes of colors and its disintegration into the lost world of soils, humus, and duff is in what it may yet become.
My rejoicing in winter is that I survive its powerful hold. That my fires are warm, and my cuddled toes are deep in the wool of socks, while the drink in my hand is steaming. That I look out the frost glazed windows to a world of battered beiges and the white of frozen snow blankets from inside my little fortified walls. Waiting for the sure vanquish of winter by the surge of spring’s newly warmed winds, carrying the change into a new season that I have been given the grace to experience.
But until then, that the fresh arrival of spring, the autumn and its fading colors bring a sadness that all things have an end, and the mighty efforts of one season are over and now weighed out for comparisons against all the others.
Good one Ilona: Your emotions are showing. Enjoyed this read.
Hi Ilona: Some conflict I need a way to contact you. from this site without others. Can’t fined it. maybe to much spirits. do you think.
at least you can look at a blanket of snow, rather than wet rotting
foliage all winter.we do get an ice storm or two also, rare snows as well. on the other hand, bright
kale seedlings and snow peas are cheerful…
i’m grateful to be able to grow almost year- a little new green during this gray damp time is encouraging. however with this
record rainfall in october
[atlanta’s highest amount,ever]
all is constantly drippy and dark.
have been wishing for a few sunny fall days all month!
my sympathies- I do remember how it was when going through certain periods of constant dank cloudy days – hope you keep your spirits up.
Atlanta really needed to come out of the drought- but sometimes the rain gets to feeling like too much…
We are just now getting rains and cooler weather. Yesterday was pert near 80.
jwlw- did you get my email?
Kylee from Our Little Acre says
Ilona, you once again have expressed perfectly the thoughts in my head and heart. I think we’re kindred spirits.
Kylee- I think we are!
I couldn’t have said it any better Ms. Ilona! And I’ll be the first to admit that I DO NOT look forward to winter’s arrival! The older I get, the more I struggle with winter’s grip! (And I, like Ms. Kylee, might be a kindred spirit.)