Winding Down

Winding down doesn’t mean done.

I am always a little sad at the end of every gardening year because I have to wait from about November 15th to about April 15th before I see signs of life in the garden again. Everything goes to sleep, folds up on itself, and waits. I won’t lie. I am envious of those who live in warmer climate zones sometimes and grow an extra two months or more.

Fall in the damp garden

I have tasks to do in the yard, like moving stones about, mulching, cutting back for winter pruning, and general tidying, but it is like a teacher who is watching over the kids during nap time. You need to be there, but you don’t need to be quite as attentive.

It has been said to me that there is nothing more hopeful than a gardener, because in a lifespan of 75 years, we plant things in the hope of seeing them next year. About 1.33% of my life I will spend in waiting hope that what I did worked, and if I am wrong, I have to try something new next year. I could work for 3–5% of my life before I even know if I am on the right track. But really, that’s true anyway.

Isn’t it?

Gardening might personify it, but it is always true.

I have said to many people, and in this blog before, if you want to be a writer, don’t wait until you’re retired to start. Everyone thinks they have the time, but you don’t. What if, like experiments in the garden, it will take you 5% of your life? Will you live to 68? 70? 75? Life is not guaranteed at any age. Don’t wait. Have faith that what you work toward today is not wasted.

Certainly, we have put plants in the ground that did not come back at all and bore us absolutely zero fruits of our labors. But it is very rare. We always succeed a little. That is life. You are unlikely to fail in a way that is completely opposite to your goals and just 180 degrees away from what you want. You’ll make some progress.

Even as the season closes, there is evidence of foward motion.

Take some time this metaphorical or literal winter to ask yourself if you are working toward the next burst of life, the next big sprint, and the next thing. Just because the moment looks droopy and tired, and you need a rest, doesn’t mean the work you did until now isn’t going to pay off later. It doesn’t mean there aren’t small bursts of color yet to come in the near future from what you did in the past.

Have hope. Be like a gardener.