- Author: Lowell Cooper
Recently I have been going out to my garden and realizing that many of the plants I relied on to give me color and solace are getting more barren. I also exercise around my neighborhood and have the same experience there too. The fall to winter transition can be rough, I tell myself. And I believe it is true. My rose growing friends are all focusing on beginning to get their roses cleaned, pruned, mulched and ready for the other side of winter; stop fertilizing them now and pick up the dead leaves. Time to let the plants that have produced fully during the spring and summer have a rest. I recently read 2 articles in the New York Times about the fall colors on the trees in the northeast. That seemed to me a glorious way to make the transition. The botanical explanations of the color change are all well and good, but the bottom line – as a leaf tourist – is that I can still look up and see the dazzling changes in the trees. The operative notion: I can still look up at them. This seems the normal way to look at trees for their color.
Yesterday, however, I went outside and saw a whole bunch of birds poking around the ground. It really caught my eye because it looked like they were seeing something edible that I couldn't see and certainly had not provided. As I watched them, I realized that the ground was covered with green sprouts and lots of them. The alyssum was returning in clumps, the naked ladys (Amaryllis belladonna) had reappearing foliage, and there were at least a half-dozen patches of bulbs that had clearly found a home. Crocuses, ranunculus, narcissus, irises sand several others from past years that had been tucked away during the hot, dry months. There was nothing slack about their growth, however, in this chilly and wet weather.
I didn't expect these little beauties to flower for a while, but they imply so much life and embody the excitement of having a garden and watching it grown throughout the whole year. My roses, the olive tree, the fig tree and other wonderful specimens of summer expansiveness are lying fallow, but are giving other features of the landscape a chance to express themselves. With the rain, as modest as it has been, the new sprouts are clean and shiny and newborn and hopeful. Seems like a good way to greet the end of daylight savings time and the chilly weeks and months ahead.
I am the kind of gardener who goes out and fusses with the plants no matter what the weather, when the urge strikes me. It renews my spirit to realize that I can look down to see what is coming up. I have faith that by the time they are themselves growing up, they will point towards the reawakening of spring drama.