Mid-November, and the garden is mostly put to bed. The tools are oiled, the tender things are mulched, and there’s not much left to do but walk around and notice.
That’s the part I like best, honestly — the walking around. No list in hand, no project waiting. Just the shape of the beds under their mulch, the shrubs settling in, and the quiet of a garden that’s done performing for the year.
I’m grateful for the absurd optimism of it all — that every year we plant things in the cold mud believing in a spring we can’t see yet. Gardening is delayed gratification as a lifestyle, and I can’t think of a healthier bet to keep making. You do the small, unglamorous work now — a shovelful of compost here, a bulb there — and trust the dark and the cold to do the rest.
So here’s to the bulbs underground, the roots spreading in the dark, and all of it waiting patiently. See you in April.
