From This Dirt Forward

I just can’t believe it’s really over.

I’m having a hard time accepting the end of the growing season, and believe me; I’ve dragged it out as long as I can.

Tilling under the gardens and dumping out the flower pots feels like I’m being forced to end a summer romance just when I fell in love.

Just when the meadows are at their greenest, the fall fruits are pouring off the vines, and my muscle memory has finally mastered the toolshed—everything changes.  The next thing I know, I’m commuting to work in the dark (both ways) and spending more time prisoner to Dancing with the Stars than enjoying my own reality.

You’d think that by the first of December I’d be able to accept this annual routine and move on.  Apparently not.  I’m still infatuated with the color and warmth and light of summer.

Wishing I could color render the outside world

Holding on to every last ray of sunshine and every last degree above freezing, I feel like this Delphinium blooming outside my kitchen window.  The Sedum Autumn Joys and the New England Asters have long surrendered, but this gal isn’t giving up just yet.

I check on this Delphinium first thing every morning, ignoring the fact that our window-filled home loses its privacy this time of year.  The surrounding woods and farm fields are now dotted with camouflaged men, perched in treetops with spotting scopes capable of discovering life on Mars, and who probably don’t (or maybe they do) want to see my paling skin scampering from window to window.  (My conservative flannel pajamas are of course still packed away in the shunned “winter” box.)

In quiet protest to the changing of the seasons, our autumn displays of homegrown pumpkins and gourds are dissolving into piles of rancid mush.  Composting them would signify that it’s time to replace them with evergreen bows and wreaths and other wintry effects.  I’m just not ready.

Despite every glossy magazine cover on my coffee table telling me I should be crafting Christmas ornaments and hankering for the likes of pumpkin cheesecake and caramel macchiatos, I find myself barefoot, sipping mojitos, and flipping through old flower catalogs. 

Late one recent night I slipped on my gardening boots, woke up the dog, and snuck out into the frosty night to gather some still-green spearmint to satisfy my fresh mojito (a.k.a. summer-in-a-glass) craving.  The crickets and swamp frogs were silent.  All I could hear was the subtle rustle of frost-covered blades of grass crumbling beneath my feet and the distant cackling of coyotes. 

I stopped and wondered what stiffened grass would feel like barefoot.  Would it tickle like walking barefoot through a fresh cut hayfield?  Clenching the flashlight between my teeth, I prepared to strike the well-balanced yoga pose needed to extricate a foot from my knee-high rubber boots.  I noticed Maddie, my forever enthusiastic canine companion, give me a confused glance as if to say, “Lady, you’re nuts.  What the heck are we doing out here?”

Maddie is happy to reenact her look of skepticism for a photo

I was lucid enough to know that when your dog thinks you’ve lost your marbles, you probably have, so I kept my boots on, snipped off enough frosty mint for a single mojito and ran back inside.

Like any summer romance that comes to an end, I know that I will find happiness again and it will be sooner than I think.  With the end of one good thing, comes the vacancy for another.  I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

I learned to appreciate seasonal renewal after living in Hawaii for eight terribly confusing seasons, where the only delineation of time was a-little-more-rainy versus a-little-less-rainy.  (Note: Relationship analogy deemed inappropriate for newlywed to ponder.)

When I’m ready, I know I’ll be swept off my feet by the scent of balsam fir and mulled spices, hot cocoa spiked with Bailey’s, and listening to old Christmas records while waiting for the cinnamon rolls to rise on a snowy Sunday morning.  I’ll delight in tobogganing and ice skating and snowshoeing up mountains.   I’ll take my first run down the ski slope and I’ll swear that there’s no better feeling in the world—not even dancing barefoot in a warm summer rain.

I’m hereby acknowledging that my feet are bloody freezing on these cold wood floors.  I think I’ll go dig some wool socks out of the “winter” box and make myself a mug of something warm and gooey.

If a genie showed up in your garden to grant you your three top garden wishes–what would they be and why?

This question was thrown my way by Fine Gardening magazine. 

The challenging task of narrowing my hoards of garden wishes down to just three inspired a long sentimental journey through all of the intoxicating garden aromas, flavors, touches, romances and beauty that I’ve experienced in my life and dreamed of being able to recreate, relive, or prolong.  I’m such a romantic.

My pragmatic husband pondered this same question for about 1.4 seconds and responded, “1. No more weeds.  2.  No more pests.  3. A 36 horsepower Kubota L-Series tractor.” He gave me a smug glance, as if to say, “That was easy.  What’s your problem?”

“Well, when I do find and articulate my wishes,” I replied, “at least I know they’re going to make for a better story than yours.”

You be the judge.  You can now read my garden wishes, along with the wishes of six other garden bloggers, in the December issue of Fine Gardening out on newsstands now.

Here on my blog, I thought that instead of wining about things I want and don’t have, I’d gush about a few of my garden-related wishes that have come true over the past year.  To allow for the detail that they deserve,  I will share one at a time over the coming weeks.

#1 GARDEN WISH GRANTED: A tropical garden wedding.

It should be of no surprise that my biggest garden-related dream come true was my warm, flowery, flavorful wedding adventure in the South Pacific.  Ten months ago, when Indiana was drooping with a thick layer of ice, I absconded with my Knight-in-Shining-Armor to the warm waters and lush tropical forests of Fiji. 

Forgoing a big traditional wedding allowed us the time, money, and sanity to enjoy two weeks of intimate bliss on Taveuni, the “Garden Isle of Fiji”. 

We made our home at Nakia Resort & Dive, a small eco-resort with ten acres of tropical gardens and an organic farm. It’s a place so wonderful that I actually hesitate to share my secret for fear it becomes too well-known.

On Christmas Eve, among the gardens, on a cliff overlooking the blue waters of Fiji, my dream of a simple, intimate, graceful wedding came true.  The intoxicating aroma of plumerias and gardenias presided over the ceremony. 

Our wedding at Nakia wasn’t just a girl’s dream come true, but a gardener’s dream come true.  Everyday the staff brought us big bouquets of fresh tropical flowers and dappled our cottage with hibiscus and plumeria flowers.  

We spent hours and hours roaming the gardens, fascinated by the intricacies of growing fruits and vegetables year-round in a tropical climate.

And then there was the food.  Wow.  At every meal we indulged in some of the finest and freshest cuisine we’ve ever had.  Most of the ingredients were grown organically just steps from the kitchen. 

When your garden looks like this:

How could you not sing Hallelujah when you’re sitting on a porch being served an organic and locally grown breakfast that looks like this:

Visiting Taveuni was a dream come true for both the lovebird and the gardener within me.