On the morning of the first frost, I put on my highlighter yellow fleece, crocheted headband, and running shoes. I run but I don’t consider myself a runner. I lace up my running shoes most mornings and just try to make it around the neighborhood. This morning I feel as if I am running away.
I gave up on my garden months ago. It was too hot, too muggy, too hard to keep up on the watering so I just stopped trying. I only had one flower stand and in that way I feel like a failure. I did not use my flowers the way I wanted to when I planted my garden in the spring. And now, I didn’t even go out one more time to appreciate them. I did not allow myself the chance to say goodbye.
When I finish my run, I brace myself and go to the garden. The ground is still crusty, the dahlias wet with melting frost. The seed pods that have been left on the plants for weeks are frozen. I leave quickly. I will know more later.
I go out to the garden again in the afternoon and expect to see blackened leaves and ruined flowers, but there is still color and I breathe a sigh of relief. Some of the dahlia leaves are damaged and brown, but the flowers are still blooming. I quickly pick what I can, knowing that they may be the last blooms of the season, knowing I’m lucky they are still here. The seed pods have thawed but I am unsure of the long term damage.
The following week is in the eighties. The seed pods look okay and I pick them before it is cold again. I snip the few dahlias that are still blooming. Even with their weak stems and faded colors, they are still beautiful. I try to soak them in. I’ve been given a second chance to appreciate them. I can have my goodbye.
It is the end of October and it is still warm enough for flowers. Frost will come again and the next time it may take everything. And even though I didn’t use my flowers in the way that I had hoped, I can’t help but remember the bees and the butterflies that greeted me every time I peeked outside. My garden buzzed with life all season, bursts of color everywhere.
There are flowers drying in the basement. There are seeds that I have saved for next year. Seeds that will bring new surprises in years to come. There is always next year to do things differently, to do things better. But for now, I still have flowers even if they are faded and worn. Spider webs glisten in the morning light between plants. Bees wake up in the afternoon and coat themselves in pollen.
Soon I will plant spring bulbs and dream of color for next year. Soon I will dig up the dahlias and store them away for next year. Soon it will be time for the garden to rest. But not yet. This year, there is still so much life.