Before the Frost

1. This will be the last morning for the morning glories. A hard frost is predicted for tonight. Well below freezing. A hard stop for the late coda of blooming we have enjoyed nearly through the end of October. The cool nights have killed off much of the morning glory foliage, but up top of the pergola, the blossoms nurtured through the bloomless summer have found their way to fruition.

Dozens and dozens of the light blue funnels have unfurled over the past few weeks. The relative cool of the days have allowed them to betray their names and live well-beyond their usual morning life-span. Perhaps, we should call these late bloomers full-day glories or fall glories. Whatever we call them, they are still true to their nature—blooming first in the morning and lasting only briefly as the fine fabric of their blossoms seems to dissolve even in the cool air. Only a few bees have remained around for the work and entertainment of pollination so seeds are few from these late bloomers. But still a thing of astonishment and beauty.

2. Though I have enjoyed our extended summer, I myself have slowly lost interest in the garden, abandoning my daily inspections and diggings for a more haphazard and sporadic approach. The varied rising thrills of spring and the lush colors of sequential blooms through the summer have worn me out. I’m ready for a break. I welcome shorter days, the cold and the snow. I am eager to fall back into the darkness of the earth for a season.

I’ve collected a few seeds and taken a few cuttings to winter over, but mostly, I’m content to let everything die back. A gardening friend told me a few years ago that the best strategy for supporting the bug, bird, insect and microbial life that is the foundation of any garden is to let everything stand as is. No need to clear away and make things tidy. Let the brown flower stalks stand through the snow until they fall over on their own. Let the whole tangle of spent life stand on its own and give itself to everything until spring. Having run out of inspiration and energy, this philosophy sounds quite wise to me.

3. A few weeks ago I planted a few spring bulbs given by a friend. I buried the little misshapen globes in bunches just before the leaves fell. Now they rest in the darkness. Their first job, before the miraculous blooming of the spring is the miraculous waiting of the winter. As they settle into their new home, they have give no thought to blooming. Not one is anxious about the impossible job that lies ahead. They rest in perfect faith that all that will be needed—the urges and the conditions—will be given to them at the appropriate time. For now, their full life is being contentedly buried. Unconcerned with the coming cold and steadfastly refusing to dream of future warmth, they life their dark lives of waiting with full assent.

4. It’s easy to fight the darkness. We’re taught to resist the falling back. Endless work and striving are the purported necessary path. It’s interesting that the tropics are associated with a more leisurely lifestyle. Perhaps without the rhythms of the enforced rest of the cold dark winter, there is a need for resting more in the midst of everlasting warm days. But not up here in the northern temperate zones. We puritans work hard in the summer and rest reverently in the winter—or so we properly should. But the urges of work and responsibility are hard to break. The lure of productivity beacons us toward the self-destructive goal of constant motion.

5. This morning, I’ll go out and appreciate the last green leaves and blossoms of the morning glories. I pick a few of the brilliantly orange nasturtium blossoms for a pre-Thanksgiving, thanksgiving salad. And I’ll cut the remaining zinnia and sunflower blossoms for vases to beautify the empty Temple where I live. The Temple too is wintering over. The ongoing viral conditions have brought us to an enforced absence of physical presence. Hopefully we can continue to learn to rest gently in these times of quiet disconnection, trusting that conditions and urges will, at some point, draw us together and enliven us once again.