The first real snow is on the ground. I say “real snow” to differentiate it from the first threatening flakes of the season that fall and quickly evaporate on contact. That snow is a precursor to the real snow and doesn’t count. It is more or less a warning to say, We are coming. Be prepared.
I am never prepared, and as predicted, I spent yesterday afternoon scrambling to finish off a few last-minute tasks. There are still empty terracotta pots sitting out and furniture that I will cover just as soon as I get off my butt and buy some tarps. I should probably lay a thicker layer of straw over the empty beds. However, all of the big, important chores are done. The garlic is planted, the bulbs are in, every single planted terracotta pot (the ones that hold hardy plants but would break if left out all winter) has been hauled into the shed. Protective coverings have been installed over crops that I could like to keep going a bit longer.
So many years as a gardener and it has finally hit me: this is how it is. This is how it will always be. There will always be a certain amount of fretting about unfinished chores and a last-minute dash to get the garden to bed. I put certain tasks off for weeks, telling myself it is so cold this fall, GAH. There are other things that I could/should/would rather be doing. I forgo the work outside to spend another minute huddled beneath a quilt with a book or some mindless action movie I have already seen five times.
My last-minute spring flowering bulb purchase. GREEN DAFFODILS!
Every fall I suffer some sort of gardener’s amnesia and seem to forget how much worse it is to do these chores while the snow comes down. And then when it does come, I am out there in a panic, prying up 30lb pots that have stuck to the ground, and chipping through the frozen crust like a madwoman, tearing up holes just big enough to fit the sale bulbs I had to get at the eleventh hour, because COME ON guys, GREEN FLOWERED daffodils 50% off! Thwack, twack, crack. Poor Davin, he gets sucked into it too. He takes pity on me and follows me out to help, calling out for instruction, Where should I plant these muscari? I point to a clear spot (YAY, an empty space!), completely oblivious to the fact that I’ve got him digging in the middle of a pathway. I guess we don’t need that anymore. It was overgrown all summer anyway and we seemed to do without it just fine. There’s always more room for another plant, especially if you keep chipping away at any remaining vestiges of “design.” Eventually, there will be no pathways or empty spots left and we’ll have to work the garden in a hovercraft. Or perhaps we can rig up some sort of trapeze or rig and harness contraption. I’ll call it circus gardening and charge an admission. I could use the exercise (and the money).
And to think, this is what my garden looked like just a few days ago.
The year I get everything done on time is a fantasy that only exists in my head. For there will always be something better to do and another enticing bin of sale bulbs to draw me in like a moth to a flame. And that voice in my head saying, Pfft, no problem. You’ve still got time.*
I leave you with this photo of Davin holding a radish plant. I always let a few mature for the edible leaves, flowers, seed pods, and of course, later, the seeds for saving. Amazingly, a whole growing season in the ground and the root wasn’t too tough. I chopped and sautéed a bit of this one with today’s lunch!
*Even as I write these words, I find myself wondering if I should have picked up a second bag of green daffodils and if there is still time left to get them in the ground!
We just have to accept it Gayla. That’s just the way it is. Your description had me laughing and vigourously nodding my head. “Gardener’s amnesia” indeed! After more than 15 years I’m finally starting to get it and to learn to let go.
As for the decreasing space to walk and stand on: zipline!!
Hilarious post and a situation I can empathize with in my own way. The greased pig scramble. I’m in sub-trop Houston and we’re having an unseasonal hard freeze tonight (first since the ’50s), so my very kind-hearted beau dragged all of our huge potted citrus, succulents and herbs inside as he cussed and cursed and damned my plant collection to hell (but was the first to wrap the roses in warm blankets). Our weather is off-kilter and always completely unpredictable and you would think after thirty years of dealing with it, I would be prepared for the unpredictability of it. And I never am. I procrastinate and, frankly, pout about it until I’m pulling off green tomatoes and crying about the unfairness of it all. Plus, I am super envious of your green daffodils and would love to see spring pictures. Daffodils are my favorite flower.
This year for the first time ever I actually got all the garden cleanup and putaway done before it got really cold and snowed. Now I keep looking out the window wondering what I must have forgotten. I don’t tell you this to make you feel bad, but rather to say gardeners are going to be neurotic about something regardless of how the season transition goes. Stay warm!
I thought I was on the ball this year. This was only my third year gardening so I’m still pretty “green” (hehe) but I had the tunnel covers all ready to go, had planted more carrots, romaine, green onions in late summer. I was all set.
Suffice to say my poor baby romaine are now shriveled and frozen, and I had to dig up a layer of frozen crust to get at my carrots this week.
There’s always next year!
Gayla, I’m right there with you. I was SO unprepared for the sudden dip in temperatures, so that large pots that had several things I had wanted to dig up and over-winter were frozen solid. I had that moment where it was too cold and dark, with a wind blowing like Siberia and I had to say, “Sorry guys,” knowing that they would be blasted over night. Sigh. I’ve been in mourning for the past few days.
My sun porch is totally crammed already so I don’t know where I thought I was going to put those extra plants anyway.
I loved your hovercraft line, made me laugh a lot. :^)
I so get it! Been there are seem to go there every year. Thanks for letting me know I’m not the only one!
After 24 summers here, I still get caught at the last minute with undone chores. In September, I forced myself to take cuttings for overwintering: 10 different Coleus, Pineapple Sage, Lemon Verbena, Passiflora. I had other tempting activities that day, but I knew the end was coming and that I would be glad in January to have these rooted, planted cuttings in the house to fuss over and dream with. (Space to bring in the parent plants does not exist.) In late October, long before our first real snow, there was a forecast for a soaking rain followed by a sudden, severe temperature drop. I envisioned all the terra cotta pots cracking simultaneously at 3am. I emptied, brushed out, stacked and carried all of them into the back corner of my shed. I pulled a muscle in my arm doing so, yet the precious pots stayed dry, did not crack and I can use them again next year. Worth it, unquestionably. But I did not choose to do it until I was forced to do it.
The scribbled list of transplanting and “redesigning” jobs which I hoped to accomplish before fall passed, but could not, will be pushed to the spring chores list. It’s always “Beat the Clock” for closing down the gardens. We all just want to keep on playing outside for as long as possible.
Yes, I suspect some seasonal denial is a part of it. I long to try gardening in a climate where I can leave the pots outside year round!
Ha, ha this made me chuckle because it resonated home with me. I am always scrambling and this year I did sit in that chair by my new wood stove instead of getting done what needed to be done because there is still time ha ha. I planted bulbs in the cold rain. I, too, have overgrown paths and I like your attitude! I got by without mine, too, might as well make it more planting space. I bet you still put in more green daffodils. Can’t have enough I say. And you are right, it will always be this way …
Even though I’m in Georgia, I can completely empathize! I spend all summer and fall fantasizing about how I will cover my plants, how organized I’ll be with all of the equipment, how professional the end product will look. Invariably, though, I’m always rushing out in the dark, fingers freezing, tripping over all the implements I’ve loaded in my arms to carry out to the garden, nose running, spouse lovingly grumbling about my procrastination (and his forced involvement). I’m like a Cubs fan, saying, “Well, there’s always next year.”