Putting the Gardens to Bed : Part 1

I used to think when the first frost hit gardening was pretty much done for the year. As I have become a more seasoned gardener I have learned different. The work has just begun. The planning and "putting the gardens to bed" in the fall is as important as the work that is done in the spring when the ground thaws. It can be harder because the weather changes, the ground begins to freeze, and garden fatigue sets in. I just brew a strong cup of coffee, put on my earbuds with favorite music, grab garden tools , and do it!

Here is the Part 1 of my Fall Chore List for putting the gardens to bed:

Review the thousand photos taken during the growing season and and take notes on what worked and didn't work.

Figure out what plants need to be moved. Fall is the best time to move plants and shrubs. and it is often easier to find someone to help you do it!

Throw away any pots that are cracked or broken. They won't mend over the winter. Trust me on this!

Plant spring and summer bulbs and take notes or use markers to remember where you put them. It is a long time until spring!

Save the soil from all garden containers in garbage cans. Add compost to the soil, cover them, They will be ready in the spring to mix with new potting soil and fertilizer.

Compost all the annual flowers. 

Dig up the dahlias and check with Keri at Sunshine Flower Farm about storage if you can't find her directions. 

Move any bird feeders you won't be able to get to after it gets icy and snowy. Who wants to shovel a path to get to a bird feeder in Janurary? 

Rest, put up your feet, and pour yourself a favorite beverage. You deserve it. 

Stay tuned for Part 2.

Retreating Away from Home

"Everyone needs a place to retreat; a spot where the world grows quiet enough for the soul to speak.

Angie Weiland- Crosby

Each year when the gardening season is over, I pack up my favorite things and my dog Riley and travel to a quiet place to get away. I recharge, rest and renew. I read, reflect, write, sleep, make delicious food, go for walks, sit by the fire, breathe, and whatever else feels right.

When I return home I am refreshed and ready to put the gardens to bed and prepare for what is ahead for the rest of the year.

I take time to take photos, do some self-care pampering, and cuddle with Riley. It is pure bliss. 

I start in the summer finding a vacation rental that is in the woods, affordable, not too far away, and is dog friendly. This year I found a perfect place close to Naples, Idaho off the beaten path.

I know when my time ends here I will be ready to return to civilization, but I will drag my feet a bit that last day.

Small Celebrations of Gardening, Revisiting a Post from 2007

 

In 2007, this was how I started a blog post in April about gardening. "I return to gardening year after year because of the small celebrations each and every day. It doesn't matter the size of the garden or what is planted, there are always changes, surprises, and celebrations on a daily basis."

Twenty six years later this is still true. I love garden beds that look pretty, but I also find pleasure in the day to day things that happen in the gardens. Today I spotted another daffodil bloom. I see it is already time to weed ( even if it was 23 degrees very early this morning). There are plants that need deadheading.  I am waiting for it to warm up a bit before I head outside, but I try to take my camera and capture small celebrations each day in the garden beds. 

In this same blog post in 2007 I went of say, "I am not a life-long gardener. I pulled weeds growing up sometimes. I appreciated the beauty of the flowers in my grandmothers' gardens. Fresh vegetables were a special treat when we visited relatives' houses that had large gardens. I dabbled with containers and annuals early in my adult life. When I turned forty and moved to KF I took on gardening in a  more serious way.

Now I live in a different house. I took a different approach to flower gardening at 514. I design more containers again, more perennials, and lots of bulbs. I have been fortunate to be able to move plants from Mom's garden beds next door and watch them continue to flourish at my house. 

The last thing I said in that original post was "gardening teaches you to pay attention." Each day I do a garden tour and look for new growth, grieve over a dead rose, or celebrate the blooming of a spring bulb. I pay attention to what is working and what shouldn't have been planted in a certain location.

It has warmed up a bit. It is time for the garden tour for today.  I will celebrate those small observations in the garden beds and pull of few weeds.

Near the Window

When I was young I always enjoyed it when my mother read poetry to me before I went to sleep. I also enjoyed it when teachers read poems aloud in class. I even loved to memorize poetry and stand up in front of the class and recite one the teacher assigned. When I reached junior high I used to go to the library and check out poetry books and read them upstairs in my room. Then I would borrow Mom's manual typewriter and type all the poems I loved. I wonder what ever happened to all those typewritten poems? My upstairs bedroom was my escape growing up and I created  memories reading, listening, and singing. Quite a few years ago I captured that time in my life in the poem below.

Near the Window

The lamp near the window glowed long into the night,
An intriguing plot kept me turning the pages.
Curling up with Nancy, Bess, and George
I created a life of adventure with mysteries to be solved.
I also picked up the books of poetry from the public library collection. 

I read the words. I saved the words, hunting and pecking  on the manual keys.

The stereo filled the hall room with beautiful sounds.
I wore out certain songs as I listened again and again.
I joined the Broadway cast of My Fair Lady and Oklahoma too,
and The Ray Conniff singers backed
me up on “Somewhere My Love.”
How many times could I repeat 

Three Dog Night singing “One”
While belting out the lyrics with a makeshift microphone?

Near the window I could breathe in spring,
In winter the panes frosted, then melted in a thaw.
If opened in summer a breeze gave a small reprieve,
The smell of burning leaves crept in at the closing of fall.

The neighbor kids gathered for Kick the Can
or Spoons, but
I cocooned myself in my bedroom upstairs.
Finding comfort near the window with my pile of books.                 

 And the collection of my favorite poems.

I still carry those words and can still recite the lyrical lines.
 l yearn to hear those familiar melodies when I
sit near the window in my childhood room.

 By Christy Woolum

 

Saving The Only Life I Could Save

 I love that there is a national focus on poetry each year in April. I love teaching students to read, apppreciate, and write poetry, I love immersing myself in the beauty of  poetry, and I love to remember the poetry my mother read me before I went to sleep at night. In celebrating poetry this month, this is one of my favorites. Why? In the last few years I have saved the only life I could save.

The Journey

by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.

-Mary Oliver, from Dream Work

As I celebrate National Poetry Month for the next four weeks, what are some of your favorite poems?

Remembering Mom: The Land of Counterpane

 

I first wrote this piece to honor my mom in 2007. I shared it again at Mom's Celebration of Life in the fall of 2017. My mom died five years ago today. A lot has happened in my life since 2017. There are so many times I sit alone and wish Mom was still with us. She would tell me what to do about the bugs eating my flower stems. She would calm me before I go visit the tax guy today. She would also remember the questions we couldn't answer at Family Dinner because she wasn't there.

The Land of Counterpane

 Mom was there to comfort me numerous times during illness or injury. When I got a bloody nose rolling in the garbage can, she was there to help wipe up the blood. Before my surgery she sat there talking to me as if everything was normal and we did this once a week. When I cut my arm she used her “for guests only” white towels with the pink tulips to wrap my bleeding gash. When I had the bike wreck by the little park she put ice on my eye and put salve on my road rash.

I have a strong memory of being sick at 14 E. Portland in Kellogg. I was about five years old. Mom stayed home from teaching that day. For part of that year Dad was home babysitting me because Bunker Hill was on strike. I still remember feeling special having Mom all to myself for the day. I got to lie in Mom and Dad’s “big bed”. Mom arranged pillows behind my head to help me sit up. She had to give me a yellow liquid medicine that tasted awful, but was there with a glass of water. I spit some of the medicine back in the glass with the water. I think I was concerned about doing something wrong. Mom comforted me and went on as if nothing happened. I also have a memory of Mom reading A Child’s Garden of Verses . “The Land of Counterpane” and Stevenson’s words are still etched in my memory.
When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay,
To keep me happy all the day.
Actually that day the toys were oranges, scotch tape and a box of Kleenex. I must have become restless as the afternoon wore on. Mom allowed me to wrap the oranges like little gifts with Kleenex and scotch tape. I thought it was a marvelous way to spend an afternoon in bed. I think I even gave Dad a gift of wrapped oranges when he got home from work.

Looking back on my sick day I remember the softness of the pillows and bedspread in that big bed. I also remember the warm light from a lamp glowing on my tissue paper gifts. The most important part of that day was the gift of time spent with my mom. Touching my forehead with her cool hand helped erase my fears. Listening to her voice recite the words of “The Swing” and “The Land of Counterpane” as she sat by the bed made me feel better. Holding the little blue book of poems and recited poems she seemed to help take me to another time, a sunnier day.

That was an early experience with comfort. Mom provided a safe haven in that Land of Counterpane. I didn’t understand it as a young child. My life continued to be peppered with numerous illnesses, heartbreaks, and injuries. In different ways Mom has always provided that comfort and safe haven for me. I understand its significance now.

I miss you Mom.