November comes and November goes and with it, 2024 is nearing its end.
One frenetic month to go before we usher in a new year, a new beginning, a time when hope springs eternal and the seed catalogs flood the mailbox and the promise of a new gardening year begins again.
November comes
And November goes,
With the last red berries
And the first white snows.
With night coming early,
And dawn coming late,
And ice in the bucket
And frost by the gate.
The fires burn
And the kettles sing,
And earth sinks to rest
Until next spring.
~Elizabeth Coatsworth
Thankfully my North Texas garden hasn’t seen snow yet – or even frost by the gate – as Elizabeth Coatsworth’s poem flows. Our earth never truly sinks to rest as it does it does in colder gardening climates. Winter gardening in this region can be that Lagniappe – that extra little something – Mother Nature’s way of saying, “You made it through another Texas summer! Here is a little extra, your reward, a little something.” Some gardeners retreat inside, happy to curl up with a cup of hot tea and dream of the spring garden… Others are planting collard greens and kale and preparing new garden beds for the seasons ahead. Both are perfectly acceptable. That is the joy of gardening – You do you! Because… She who plants a garden plants happiness.
(Photo above: I am always on the hunt for preowned garden items, whether from estate sales, thrift stores or antique markets. This little plaque came from an estate sale, out of a dusty old greenhouse. Oh, how I wish I knew the gardener! But her spirit lives on now in my garden.)
You Do You may well be my garden motto, though I am quite unsure how to put that in the first person. My garden is unique. Not everyone’s cup of tea. But I am good with that. I garden for my self – both for my physical health and my mental health. This year, I opened my garden for three garden tours, two formal tours and one very informal tour. Each time I had the same apprehension. I know my garden can be… a bit much. But I love it that way. It is free spirited, much like myself. A bit wild around the edges.
Last year, I joined the local garden club, which is still in its very early years of existence. For background: We bought our home 29 years ago, knowing how I wanted to garden. For that reason, we sought out a property tucked away from street view and without an HOA. Our property – and my garden – are not the norm for this area and especially not for this suburban garden club. When I offered my garden as a stop along their progressive supper/garden tour, it was with a disclaimer: My garden was anything but a standard suburban garden! The garden club visited my garden in early May, the final stop of the evening and the ladies lingered over tea and homemade rosemary orange cake. The feedback was all lovely and I do hope that many were encouraged to think outside the box, to have some fun in their own gardens.
A few years after we bought our home, I attended a garden club’s plant sale in a nearby suburb. I loved the club and the gardeners so much that I decided to join, as our suburb was still small at the time and we didn’t yet have a club. This year marks my 25th year as a member of that garden club and the third time I have opened my gardens for a tour.
I have said before that gardeners are a fickle lot when it comes to the weather, so it goes without saying… Between the first garden tour in May and this second garden tour five weeks later, it rained….
And rained.
And rained.
We swung from historic drought to historic flooding rains in a matter of weeks. Our garage flooded for the first time ever. Two days before the June tour, I was up to my ankles in mud, digging a trench along the side of our property, trying to get the water to drain away from the house, in hopes that the main path to the back gardens would dry out enough to make it passable for garden visitors.
As more rain was falling and even more rain was forecast, I spent the day before the tour hauling in mulch and placing a new stepping stone path along the other – slightly higher – side of the house.
With even more rain falling, I decided on Plan C.
I posted a note on the front door: Please come through the house. Don’t worry about tracking in mud. Seriously. Do Not Worry! Mud Happens!
The rain that fell that June morning would be the last that my garden would see until late October. But that June day was glorious. The rain cleared off, the sun came out and I had 80 or so garden club members through my garden.
The third garden tour of the year was quite unexpected and very informal. A neighbor wanted to organize a block party over the Fourth of July weekend and asked if we would mind if it was held outside our home, our property being tucked away at the end of the subdivision and away from vehicular traffic. I had long assumed that most of our neighbors simply put up with me, the eccentric gardener at the end of the street, so I was unprepared for all the requests for garden tours. I didn’t have the chance to reign in the weeds or to tuck in some of the crazy…
(… because every free spirited garden needs a disco ball!)
But – from what I heard – the gardens lived up to everyone’s expectations of what the rest of my gardens would look like. From the driveway food forest to the (shh… back garden annex…), the neighbors loved what they saw. A little fun, a little wild, packed full of plants of every sort.
I don’t know quite how it happened, but then – in a blink of an eye – that early July day is now… almost December? Summer and autumn went by much too fast.
(Photo above: This morning’s harvest, what may be the last of the summer vegetables from 2024.)
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December,
A magical thing,
And sweet to remember:
“We are nearer to spring
Than we were in September.”
~Oliver Herford
The first seed catalog arrived in the mail just a few days ago and I have yet to find time to sit down and dream and plot and plan, but I know cold wet days are ahead and seed catalogs always make one feel hopeful and cozy when most needed. The garden walk this morning was good for the soul, a sunny yet crisp cold day, this last day of November.
(Photo above: cypress vine growing over a pepper plant.)
By this time of year, the gardens are late season feral and overgrown, vines scampering and rambling, smothering everything in their path. It makes harvesting an adventure, a real life Jumanji meets Easter egg hunt. I have made a mental note to keep the vines in check next year, to not let them get out of control. But I know… I will see them in full bloom, hummingbirds and butterflies flitting about, and let them be. You do you. And this is me.
This morning, I harvested roselle hibiscus, which I will dehydrate to use this winter in teas and in dying papers and fabrics.
November is usually such a disagreeable month…as if the year had suddenly found out that she was growing old and could do nothing but weep and fret over it. This year is growing old gracefully…just like a stately old lady who knows she can be charming even with gray hair and wrinkles. We’ve had lovely days and delicious twilights. This last fortnight has been so peaceful…. ~ Lucy Maud Montgomery
The garden is growing old gracefully this year. We have had cold nights, but have yet to have a freeze. The roses (above) and salvias (below) are still blooming, as if they know December and colder days are coming. But, until then… I am out enjoying the garden, feral as it is.
the melodious garden 