Raising Flowers and Horses
Hope Amidst the Native Plants
When I was finishing many of the fall chores last week, I found myself talking to myself, and starting many of those sentences with the words, I hope: I hope the ground doesn’t freeze before I get the ranunculus in the ground; I hope the covering for the low tunnel arrives before the baby plants freeze, I hope there can be world peace.
Frost and the Power of Endings
As I looked out my bathroom window this morning, I saw the tell-tale sign. It looked like a light dusting of powdered sugar all over the yard. My yard is in a hollow, lower than my flower field, and the coldest temperature the night before had only been 37; there was a chance my flowers were spared. A brisk walk up to the field told me what I already knew, my remaining flowers had been kissed by frost. It makes sense, it is October 24 after all, pretty much on the nose for our expected frost date. Still I’m never quite prepared for the end of the season. It feels like a Sunday afternoon after a holiday weekend, when the kids leave our home headed to their far-flung cities. I’m tired from the celebration, grateful for the beauty and communion, and already longing to do it all again.