GAME OVER

I realised recently that the tidying up I did in the garden wasn’t just something to do—it was an acceptance of the coming winter. Subconsciously, I knew the shift in weather meant summer was done, even though I didn’t want to admit it. The temperatures have dropped, we’ve had rain, and the leaves are turning yellow and red. It’s GAME OVER—summer has finished.

There’s a feeling of sadness in me as I wander around the garden, wondering how much longer the hummingbird hawk-moths will visit. I’ve noticed the rudbeckias and echinaceas are in decline—they’ve certainly looked better—and there’s brown leaves beginning to collect on the grass and pathway.

I wish we were just entering into summer again, but on a brighter note, it was such a good, long summer this year—it didn’t feel like it would ever end. Autumn isn’t really as bad as it seems, and change is inevitable. The colours are exciting, and several plants in my garden are starting to put on dramatic displays. Some are flowering and will continue into early winter. Whilst autumn marks the end of the warmth and showy blooms, every season has its own points of interest—you just have to look for them and plan your garden with this in mind. That’s what I’ve attempted, though with a newly planted garden, I haven’t yet witnessed a full year. So I’m keeping my eyes peeled for any break in the flowering of different plants. Ideally, I don’t want there to be a single moment without at least one plant in flower.

Looking closely at my plants, I see many positive signs. The winter-flowering shrubs are full of tightly packed buds—they look eager to get going. Even the spring-flowering plants are now producing little buds in preparation. As much as I love the summer, I’ve chosen plants that flower at different times because, for my garden, I want it to be a story of constant change—no beginning or end, just different moments unfolding throughout the year. Summer will no doubt always be the best time for big floral displays, but I know I’ll appreciate any flowers at any other time just as much, as will the wildlife that choose to visit us.

Winter will slow everything down, so this year I imagine I’ll be less busy in the garden. Last winter, I was busy planting bare-root shrubs. This year, I don’t have any big plans like that—maybe just a few tweaks here and there. I’ll probably move a couple of plants whose locations aren’t quite right. Perhaps something else will crop up—a new idea, a project—or maybe nothing at all until spring. A period of rest would be nice.

The garden hasn’t really needed much in recent weeks: mowing the lawn, pulling the odd weed. It’s probably the reason I haven’t written as much. I have done a few little things, like taking cuttings—making good use of a pair of propagators I purchased last month. Some are for plants that won’t survive winter, some are duplicates because I want more, and some are spares to be given as gifts. A few cuttings have already failed—my decision to fully close the vents didn’t help—but I’m hopeful for better success with the remaining ones now that I’ve given them some ventilation.

Operation Daffodil will begin at some point soon. My order of daffodil bulbs arrived last week, and I’m hoping to make time to get them all planted by the end of this week. I’ve also had a couple of non-gardening garden jobs to do: strengthening the sides of my original log store and building a second one from old pallets. Fortunately, I managed to get them both completed in time, as a large firewood delivery arrived last week. Now both stores are packed, stacked, and ready for winter.

Meanwhile, the buddleias are still putting on strong displays. I’m looking forward to seeing them more established next year. I’ll return to the subject of buddleias in a future post—writing about them is something I want to do, but it’s also a slightly daunting prospect as I have so much to say. I have a Buddleia obsession, so I need to think it through thoroughly and make sure I get it right. That’s all on that for now.

As the garden begins to quieten, there’s plenty of beauty in the seasonal changes. The garden isn’t closing down; it’s simply transforming. Whilst I will miss the buzz of summer, there’s still so much to appreciate—the structure of bare branches, the new buds filled with optimism, and the satisfaction of knowing that, even in an apparently dormant state, the garden is still growing.