The Work of October

There is a particular kind of beauty in an October garden.

It isn't the pristine beauty of May, when everything is new and possibility seems endless. Nor is it the exuberance of July, when the garden appears determined to grow faster than we can keep up with it.

October shows its history.

Stems lean where summer storms pushed them. Calendula continues flowering among plants already gone to seed. Basil waits for one final harvest before frost. Tomato vines that seemed unstoppable only weeks ago begin to surrender to shorter days and cooler nights.

The garden looks lived in.

And perhaps that's why I love it.

Much of October's work is about knowing what to keep and what to let go.

We gather the last useful harvests. Herbs come indoors to be dried or preserved. Seeds are collected and tucked away for another spring. Garlic goes into soil that will look empty for months before revealing what has been happening beneath the surface.

And gradually, the plants that have finished their work are returned to the earth.

There is a temptation to think of this as the end of the gardening year.

It isn't.

A garden doesn't really have an ending.

The calendula seeds we gather carry next year's flowers inside them. Fallen leaves become organic matter. Compost made from this year's garden will feed another year's soil. Perennials retreat underground rather than disappear. Even an apparently empty bed is still alive with roots, fungi, insects, and microorganisms carrying on beyond our view.

October reminds us that rest is part of the work.

That's a lesson our culture isn't particularly good at teaching.

We tend to celebrate beginnings, growth, productivity, and harvest. We are less comfortable with the seasons when growth slows and energy turns inward.

Nature doesn't seem troubled by that.

Trees don't apologize for dropping their leaves.

The garden doesn't consider dormancy a failure.

Plants grow when it is time to grow, flower when it is time to flower, produce seed when it is time to reproduce, and rest when the season asks them to rest.

There is wisdom in that rhythm.

Over the next several weeks, we'll clean the gardens, prepare the beehives and chicken coop for winter, put away tools, preserve what remains of the harvest, and make the small preparations that help carry our little corner of the world through another Ohio winter.

Then, eventually, there will be less to do.

And that's all right.

The seed catalogs will arrive soon enough.

For now, October asks us to finish what needs finishing, preserve what is worth keeping, and allow the rest to return to the earth.

There will be another spring.