Until the Big Sleep

First weekend of November, I spent the whole Saturday trapped indoors by heavy winds and rain. I ventured out once, to check on my persimmons (still, some are not ripe) and came back shivering.

Here’s the thing. In October and November each year, I tend to pretend to enjoy the fall. It works sometimes: in moments of brilliant colour delivered by low sunlight, when I try the last Kenko pears and plant bulbs in every spot I find. I document every last rose, last dahlia and last raspberry. Yet, I have to retreat indoors earlier and earlier. I am ready for the winter, but the garden is not, so I fill my miserable days with garden work. On Sunday following that dreadful Saturday, with wind and rain gone, I dug out my overalls, and started layering clothing. Two pairs of gloves, one on top of the other, seem like a sensible choice. When I warm up, I remove the top layer, but rather hesitantly. Days are cold. When bulbs are planted and dahlias safely indoors, I tell myself the rest can wait till spring if it must. I say that, but I always keep on going.

Finally, I managed to force myself to get out once the temperature went up to around four degrees. It was a day of small tasks of little importance: mulching, cutting down clumps of perennials, checking on pecans, harvesting some of the last lettuce and arugula. I was out for six hours, and only a trained eye would spot the difference. As usual at this time of year, the morning was miserable, but by the evening, I wanted to cry when I was going home. Could I be more inconsistent? My excuse is that I was warm from work and that the setting sun shone against Montreal high-rises on the horizon. Anyway, no one sane expects emotional consistency in November.

This is it. The end of the season is coming quickly. It’s less golden with each day when winds blow away the last leaves of maples and ginkgoes. Larches are losing their golden halo. With no hard frost yet, lilac hedges stubbornly hold on to their greying leaves. Until the first snowstorm, we will hold on too. We will keep on going.

Until the big sleep.