Wine moon garden

As frost slows garden activity in October, I reflect on the garden year’s expansion and crop production. This season’s work widened my vision of nature. The variety of new plants that have appeared in the garden is astounding. “Summer’s Blush’ cosmos show magenta throats on rings of five paper-white petals. Next to them are rust-red and gold mops of Cherokee Sunset rudbeckia. Biennial, white and pink hollyhock blooms have appeared generously. Seedlings of new perennials, like the white balloon flower, Mt. Fuji, add excitement. I’m readying them for winter. There’s a long transition period of dormancy before they warm up and show off summer’s first inflated blossom.

On a visit to Wave Hill gardens in the Bronx, I got colorful ideas for next year’s beds. There were leafy marbled caladiums with red, white and green. I was very taken with the large, up-facing, clear-white trumpets of a low-growing shrub, Datura. I want to grow a tall red castor bean plant. When their bold stems catch a bit of sunlight they ignite with a molten red glow.

In bittersweet moments of putting the garden to bed, I think about next year, and how full it will be. Each season brings more challenges, and more opportunity for something different. In that vein, I’m adding cow manure to existing beds and starting a couple of new ones. I’m using aged wood chips for a wide border that can rot slowly into the soil. I’ll begin a fresh compost heap with a layer of newly fallen leaves for a base. Garden debris like dead vines and stalks makes good compost starter. The older heap is being spread near crowns of perennials. As I accumulate shredded leaves, I’ll spread them onto the beds for extra protection.

October is when we pull in pumpkins and carve them into jack-o-lanterns for the porch, to scare off evil spirits. A harvest of heirloom winter squash is ripe and ready for sharing. Bobbing for apples and stuffing cornhusks in scarecrows are reminders of All Hallows Eve approaching. A contemporary ritual like oiling wooden tool handles provides comfort in the face of cooling weather. I secrete a few last-minute bulbs underground before it freezes, seeing them blooming and heralding spring. Thoughts of rebirth in the garden linger as worn gloves are tucked into a drawer to rest for another season.

Seeds for future gardens find their way into envelopes and are identified. I leave as many seeds as I collect. I want to attract local wildlife to enjoy seeds they’ll find among the plants left in the garden for winter. I’ve found a few large crab apples to grow from seed. I’ll grow hyacinth beans for their unusual curling flower clusters. I save squash seeds and dry them on a paper towel. I let nasturtium seeds brown before packing them away. Next year, I will grow more delicious fingerling seed potatoes. Heavenly Blue and Sunrise Serenade morning glory blooms will punctuate the curtain of green leaves on pole bean vines again.

Beauty reigns in fall with the spectacle of sprawling leaves in transition. Color is nature’s language, set to a cadence of seasonal rhythms.