The gifts of Autumn

As the air turns crisp and the daylight hours begin to wane, my stroll through the garden takes on a new tone. The shifting season brings quiet and stillness to growth, while a flurry of creatures prepares for the coming winter ahead.

Oregano, intentionally unharvested, remains to care for the flurry of bees, who now have few floral choices left. The herbs are now covered in tiny seed bundles that top long and wilted golden-leaved stems, which have curved to the ground under the weight, to lie quiet until Spring when they start anew.

Here in the Pacific Northwest, the Madrone trees curl back their bark and shed skin for the new year ahead. While grapevines and maple take on a golden hue, offering confirmation that the heat of summer has now passed to be replaced by the quiet and cool days of the new season.

Though some solitary blooms persist, the final defiant flowers of the year offer color and subtle, surprising joy as they cross your path. A fireweed bloom, the last of the stalk, holds on as the pollinated seed pods below it share the gifts of new plants on the wind. A single Shasta daisy, a surprising last effort, pushes forth and opens under the cover of a tangle of vining blackberry and brambles left to grow wildly throughout the year. It shows a window into the tiny world just at the surface of the still brimming soil. Now fed by the rains and awoken from the dormant slumber of the hot summer months, the moss-covered ground becomes lush and soft underfoot, a welcome and enlivened shift from the brittle, withered grasses. Tiny Mycena and other fungi begin to pop up, accompanied by toads, salamanders, and the giant slugs that help to break down the remains of the garden's fruits and begin the process of decay that will start everything anew in spring.

Wherever you may be, nestle into a comfortable sweater, go outside if you can, and breathe in the stillness.