As the Sun Steps Down

I’m finally done ranting about the summer of 2018 and am ready for autumn. I usually cringe when autumn lovers start swooning over pumpkin lattes – WHICH IS THE DEVIL’S DRINK, END OF - and fleece hoodies. But this summer was such a letdown that I feel, for the first time in my life, a smidgen of enthusiasm about the start of fall.

Tomorrow is the autumnal equinox and with it, summer officially ends. We’ll have some summer-like weather still, but the days are getting markedly shorter, the sun is stepping down, and that lovely amber autumn light that comes into sight each day at about 5 p.m. is putting in its appearance. The nights are no longer sweltering. Squirrels are storming around with acorns in their mouths, looking for hiding places. Geese are flying south in V-formation.

In a couple of weeks, we’ll start breaking down the potted garden. The bay plant, which exploded in size this summer, will come indoors for winter. We’ll dump old pots of basil into the compost bin. Our beautiful papaya trees will also be composted (they don’t survive indoors, we discovered last winter). We’ll dig up turmeric and ginger root and use it all as quickly as possible. Sedum will be placed in a sheltered spot outdoors until spring. The only thing left outside will be the big pot of Italian parsley, which will survive a few light frosts to give us the last summer food.

I’ve been letting the amaryllis plants dry for several weeks now, and soon, I’ll cut off the leaves and place them, still potted, in the cool, dark basement to rest. In early December, they’ll be potted up in fresh soil, watered, and positioned in a bright window to begin the blooming process again.

Amaryllis is something I love about winter. These are the pricey bulbs I bought a few years ago, top-quality cultivars that are a far cry from the mass-produced $5 variety found at supermarkets and Wal-Mart. These high-grade bulbs, with the right care, bloom larger year after year, getting bigger and bigger, sprouting kiekies for future generations, before eventually reaching the end of their magnificent lives. But I confess that I always buy a few of the cheap $5 amaryllis bulbs each year for a quick fix. They wind up in the compost bin in spring.

Years ago, we marked off one bright corner of the house for the winter mayhem of sprouting bulbs, tropical plants, orchids, ferns, succulents, herbs, geranium, and African violets. It’s a sacred space in our home, a vortex of life and growth and nurturing. You can find me on any weekend afternoon in winter poking around it, removing dead foliage, checking for insects, cleaning leaves, turning plants toward the winter sun, misting, and gently watering. Winter indoor gardening is meditation.

With the renovation of our living space, we moved the barrister bookcases near the south-facing windows, where the little green oasis is. And we have two comfy reclining chairs there for sitting with good books, all snug up against the indoor jungle. That’s something to look forward to. Grab a book and a hot tea, settle under a blanket in a soft recliner, and resonate with the plants.

Summer is God’s season. Winter is something I have to struggle to make sense of.

Soon, we’ll have our indoor garden to tend, bird feeders to fill, books, blankets, hot tea and hot cacao elixirs, music, early dinners, nighttime cuddles, football games, family gatherings, movie nights, a warming fireplace, sexy boots, cool hats, cute mittens, dog walks, and our annual pilgrimage to the Moon Dog Café in Vermont. I want to make a new, fat scoby for homemade ‘booch, and work on recipes for homemade, healthful, vegan dog treats. I’d like to finally try macramé. I hope to find the purest jar of sustainably made manuka honey I can afford. I’d love to spend winter giving Reiki to shelter animals – something I used to do - but my husband won’t have it. He’s sure I’d be adopting homeless dogs on the daily. He’s probably right.

But we’ll also have snow to shovel and ice to slip on, scant sunshine, and frozen pipes. We’ll have precious songbirds and abandoned, frightened animals dying alone in the cold. It’s a cruel disparity that haunts me each and every frigid winter, especially at night.

Goodbye, summer. Thank you for again teaching me the powerful lesson of the most precious Dharma: impermanence. Thank you for your fickleness, which taught me perseverance. You tested my mettle, and that’s good too. You worked your best with soil, water, and air to give us food despite the wrecked climate we humans created. If all goes as planned, we’ll do this again, we’ll try the gardens again, we’ll work for an awakening of human consciousness that favors our beloved Mother Earth. Definitely. Let’s try this all again next year.

Barbie xo