I have decided not to be gloomy about mid to late fall. Yes, the leaves are coming down from the sugar maple in my front strip faster than I can get rid of them. Yes, if I think about it, I can envision all of the icy blasts, damaging storms and winter grayness that is in the offing. But the light is still golden, there are plenty of flowers in the garden and the temperatures haven’t yet fallen to Arctic levels. Even more important than that, I have found that fall yard and garden clean-up is more than just a nuisance. It is a process of discovery.
Many of us change out the contents of drawers and closets in the fall, setting aside the light garments of summer in favor of more substantial fall and winter wear. We rediscover favorite sweaters, rugged old corduroys and wooly socks. The same thing happens in the garden. Soon I will be in the process of giving a mammoth oakleaf hydrangea—Hydrangea quercifolia—a major haircut, reducing its size by at least one half. While wielding the clippers, pruning shears and loppers, I have discovered all kinds of things. The hydrangea gave birth while I was busy elsewhere, so now I have the option of replanting the offspring in another part of the garden. The asters growing behind it have emerged from near-Stygian gloom and are also ready to be transplanted.
The oakleaf hydrangea will have a completely different look once it has been recontoured and will be ready for an underplanting of mixed grape hyacinths that will be inspiring next spring. Its neighbor, a gorgeous purple-flowered bigleaf hydrangea—Hydrangea macrophylla—will finally have a chance to shine without interference from its rambunctious neighbor.This pruning job, one of my chief fall goals, will also give me the opportunity to rediscover all kinds of things, not to mention the chance to change the look of an entire garden corner. The stripping away of spring and summer’s greenery allows for new ways of seeing what is left.
Fall also gives you the rare opportunity to live for the moment. As I cut back the millions of spent asters that have provided clouds of color throughout my little landscape, I leave the plants that still bear blooms. I simply can’t bear the idea of losing that color before it is ready to depart the scene. The same is true of the last lingering flowers of the Japanese anemones. There will be plenty of time for shearing away the remnants of the late perennials; for right now I will stop and enjoy them. After all, the asters have survived at least two rounds of cropping by hungry deer, not to mention drought in the late summer. They—and I—deserve the chance for a last minute blaze of glory.
The same is true of the roses, many of which still bear fat buds that are waiting for a warm day to open up. The colors of those roses have changed with the seasons and light quality and now look warmer and richer. The bushes with attractive hips will wait the longest to be pruned—possibly even until spring. The hips, which will sweeten as the weather chills, are lovely and will feed the birds later on. Other roses will be shorn of their long, whippy canes in due course of time. Right now, I savor the last roses, clipping a few for the house and letting the rest remain in the garden.
I should cut back every single rose of Sharon, as they are notorious self-seeders. Still, some of them tantalize me by showing off their lovely seed pods, waving them from the tops of the shrubs like hundreds of golden crowns. The sensible recourse would be to clip as many as I can for dried arrangements, wreathes and other decorations and get rid of all the others. My back will thank me for this come spring—the usual time when I grub out the hundreds of unwanted rose of Sharon seedlings. But sometimes, like this year, I wait, because the seedheads look so perfect on the shrubs. The glory of those crowns is worth the humbling experience of bowing down to the seedlings later.
Some years I am an ant, doing all the fall chores promptly, dealing severely with self-seeders like the asters and roses of Sharon and making everything tidy. This year I feel more like a grasshopper, taking pleasure in the few remaining blooms and basking in the last, warm rays of the sun, while ignoring the fact that the cold winter will soon be upon us. My friends who are ants will no doubt look on in disapproval, but even their icy stares cannot compare with October’s golden glow.
