Thoughts on the seasons
I dread the final day of summer. As early as February, I’m thinking about it. I know it has to come but I pray it will come later than predicted. In Michigan, summer is a funny thing. It began in Spring this year! Warm weather, that is. And sometimes a hard frost comes in early Autumn (which still feels like “summer” for me).
Seasons are unpredictable, out of my control, designed and orchestrated by the Creator. But oh how I wish I could know the day and time that killing frost will come!
Summer means pliable soil, compost, mulch, stakes, sprouts, color, stems, blooms, bees, insects I don’t know the names of, and requests from customers and friends. Summer means bright mornings, afternoons literally buzzing with life and sunshine (a perfect time for a quick nap), and evenings with fireflies lighting up the field.
I should acknowledge Spring because it is important too. The soil thaws, the sprouts push up, and the very first blooms show off. (like tulips, anemone, peonies, and perennials that come alive after winter). But it’s summer that gets me outside. Into the dirt, rummaging around for pots, water hoses, flower buckets, and a garden lunch on the front porch. It’s summer I love so much.
In June and July the plants in my gardens get everything they need (it’s hard work). Their stems grow strong and tall; I get up early to pick beetles off leaves and cut down shoots they have already destroyed. The weeds grow faster than the flowers and it makes me crazy. I fall into bed and night, ready to repeat the whole thing the next morning.
In summer the rains and winds make the plants strong and tough. It’s hard to imagine how they can survive so well! Every morning it’s like Christmas – something new and unexpected under the sky. I find myself praising the Creator, showing gratitude, talking about the mystery of leaves unfurling, and flower petals with varying hues (did you know that one blooms can actually contain 1,000’s of mini florets and petals?)
In Michigan Autumn can come on time (September 21st), or even earlier. It’s rare for it to come late. When it does arrive, I start to panic (winter will follow sooner than I want it to). I don’t want the growing season to come to an end (there are still birthdays, parties, and grocery store bunches selling out).
I push my worries away, live in the present, and enjoy the harvest. Because in August and September, the flower crops are full and stunning. The plants are strong and it’s purely about the fruit. The fruit of our labor and the fruit of each plant. This is when the dahlia field explodes! It’s almost as if the 2,000 plants have finished their rehearsals, prepared all the costumes, and memorized the lines. It’s time for the dahlia show! I call it “Dahlia Days.” They are front-and-center on the farm.
And this is when I start planning for next summer. Gathering seeds from the best (and prettiest) blooms. I plant plugs that will bloom slightly, die over the winter months and come back new and strong in late spring and early summer. Boxes of bulbs are delivered and packed into crates of soil and mulch. There is always something to look forward to! I call it “dreaming.” I have visions of next years’ fields, the colors, and the bunches of blooms I will share.
