The Letting Go

I used to deeply loathe fall and winter. I didn’t grow up in such a cold climate, and my husband grew up in an even more temperate climate (the Bay Area), so learning to love a place where trees are devoid of leaves for more than half the year really does take some practice. A lot of practice. I chalk it up to the slow trickle of life’s wisdom that accumulates across the decades, how I’ve learned to love the letting go that is autumn. I truly relish this time of year and the cathartic erasure of my garden season, bit by decayed bit of beautiful and bountiful memories onto their next phase of life. Composting.

They are being reborn in this way, not dying. And that is a critical mindset for me as I slowly undo all that I joyfully did in March, April, May, June, and July. Yes, we have oodles of food to show for it, but the overall feeling is somber. The colder and shorter days, often under a heavy bank of clouds, only adds to the ominously depressing nature that can be tearing out your dead tomato plants. I’ve already forgotten how colorful life was just weeks ago, living instead in this more muted landscape already, its dampened vibe seeping into my soul inviting the season of contraction that is the dormant season.

As I become friends with the empty garden beds once again, it doesn’t mean life is less colorful. Instead, the colors remain obscured to the eye, hidden and safe belowground. Just pull a garden carrot or daikon in November to remind yourself that color in this dark season can and does sustain us. It’s essential to recognize and remember that cleaning the slate now is the start of spring gardening, in fall. I have to really force myself outside this time of year, as my body yearns for long, quiet days by the fire and a months-long knitting marathon with delicious, warm foods for months on end. The fall cleanup is about to be renewed with warming temperatures returning in the coming week.

I forced myself to venture into the garden yesterday with a mindset to just do a little bit. Clean up one aspect of the landscape that is nagging at me. I had been avoiding the garden all week because I was a bit overwhelmed with the noisy detritus. I needed to let go of some of the mess. The defeated sweet alyssum from our cold nights last week were an obstacle to enjoying my viewshed, a barrier to appreciating the garden returning to more minimalist months. Past tense, because I did it. It took all of about 20 minutes. I carefully twisted them at the base, disturbing as few roots as possible (I was too hasty to get my pruning shear, and yes, I know better) and in a matter of moments the space had a renewed hope for what is to come in 2023.

In this letting go and undoing, I always end up evaluating not just my plants, but also my life at large.

What is working in my life right now? What is nagging me and needs to be composted? Every fall I take a full inventory of not only the plants I grew and which ones I loved, but also of the patterns I’ve been living and breathing and whether they serve me going into winter. It’s a time to downshift, but it’s also a great season for change too. Our weather is changing. Our seasonal menu has dramatically shifted. And I’m here for the deeper and true personal and spiritual change that I’m ready to take on as well.

I invite you to pay attention to this really important seasonal shift that is autumn. Take inventory, free of judgment. I know, it’s so much harder said than done for some of us, but I encourage you to practice radical self-compassion. And just see where it leads your heart and soul.

You might also like:

The Fall Garden Plan: Part 1 How to Find Room for a Fall Garden Fall Garden Guide