We have arrived at the end of October. It has not been overwhelmingly rainy, as often predicted after an extra-dry summer. But the cold winds have been brutal. Or so they seem to a person from the tropic (that is me).
One good thing comes with a cold October. Colder soil temperature reduces the risk of newly planted tulip bulbs catching “Tulip Fire” fungus. So if you are like me and didn’t wait until November to put the bulbs in the ground, then a temperature drop is good news.
With the tulips, I knew it would have been safer to delay the planting. But I was keen to feel the soil between my fingers.
By October, I had fewer and fewer chances to work in the garden, to touch the damp soil and smell the leaves. And the less often I gardened, the more disoriented I felt. So I needed all the excuses.
I had started to dread the lack of gardening as soon as summer reached its height. So I made some arrangements to have more plants moving inside the house as soon as it became colder.
I sowed seeds into tidy pots that fitted the sunny, yet narrow, windowsill.
I potted up my tropical herbs, lemongrass, Thai basil, and the like, so I could move them inside, thinking I knew what it felt like to be tropical and outside during northern wintry days.
The tiny pots dried out way too quickly for me to sustain them.
The Thai basils struggled along, withering and losing their fragrance.
The lemongrass simply gave out.
My attempts to go against the tide were proven to be futile.
Outside in the garden, though, the story is still writing itself. Most deciduous climbers, shrubs, and trees are hanging on to their leaves, even as the brownish colours have started to show. And I have my score of evergreen. The deep green leaves of the Japanese honeysuckle, star jasmine, bay, yew, and holy tree. A few green pears. Many yellow passion fruits.
My passion fruit vines have been the real star, with a never-ending show of striking blue flowers followed by dangling, jewel-like fruits.
I have never tried those fruits, as I inherited the original climber from the previous owner and don’t know its exact variety. I suspect that the fruits are edible, at least to insects and birds. But I feel wrong to try a passion fruit that isn’t deep purple like the ones I grew up with. No matter how many years I live away from my tropical homeland, I still adhere to certain “standards”. So I just don’t eat the passion fruits grown in my garden.
In fact, I no longer harvest much from the garden, but for a handful of leaves here and there.
I don’t water.
I don’t feed.
I have very little excuse to go out there and change things.
Maybe that was the root cause of the melancholy air that’s been following me around lately.
So what am I to do?
More yoga sessions? Perhaps then I will manage to surrender to the change of seasons.
Enjoy my garden writing? Buy my a coffee (or a bag of seeds)
