And So It Goes

A pivotal moment in garden life is when the stores put out chrysanthamums. Today I bought a big, beautiful pot of dark purple mums to put in the front near my door. They are a harbinger of fall, of the end of the garden season, of the harvest and cool weather, of apples, pumpkins, the smell and the colors of falling leaves. Now I sit and wait as the garden I've worked on since January will wind itself to a close; currently it is still producing abundantly, but I know that it's only a matter of time and in a way that makes me sad.

This garden was my baby. Compared to gardens past, it was really and truly a work of love and a work from my own hands. This was the first garden in my OWN house, one that I own myself. It was my garden during the time in my life when my marriage fell to shit and I emerged as a stronger woman, partly through the garden where I used my own muscle and sweat and my own research and knowledge to make the garden grow.

Now that time is coming to a close, in the garden, but also that time in my life. I've crested along the tops of the relentless waves of an emotional time, not really able to see past the storm. Somehow I feel like this is all very cathartic, the coming ending of the summer garden standing as punctuation for the close of all of that trauma. Now I can see past the immediate and through into the rest of my life, the life that now belongs to me and my children. All the upheaval seems to be behind us, now we can take a deep breath and move forward.

I will be sad to watch my garden die. But come January, you know those seed catalogs will be coming and I will already be optimistically planning the next garden, enthusiastically choosing what new fruits and vegetables to take a chance on next time! And I know that my enthusiasm for taking chances on new things extends beyond seeds. I am so excited to see where this time brings me next.