October Garden Advice
Especially when the October wind
Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land…
So begins one of my favorite poems, “Especially When the October Wind,” by Dylan Thomas. Though its imagery is surreal, the lines expertly capture the fiery vividness I’ve associated with this month since I was a boy. I have good memories of standing under the two-hundred-year-old mountain maple in my grandmother’s yard in mid-October, after school, watching the yellowy brown leaves flutter and spiral down in the sun. With the holidays on the horizon and the light failing fast, it’s one of the earth’s rapidest periods of seasonal transformation. By Halloween, most of the landscape will be stripped to its wooden frames, the architecture of Earth exposed to the chilly heavens, the wind rising and the chimneys blowing smoke each evening.
It’s hard not to feel pleasure—a pleasure linked intrinsically to transience and frailty—when we walk around the landscape in October, knowing that each day’s display of shape and color will be altered before tomorrow. Wedges of restless geese strafe the sky, dotting their way south, squirrels bury acorns with insane persistence, and the slightest breeze sends leafy coils skittering across the pavement. This particular October, I’m constantly thunderstruck by the contrast between the tranquil loveliness of my adopted New England home and the nightmare devastation still haunting my family and friends in Asheville, North Carolina in the flooded wake of Hurricane Helene. It’s a month to anticipate the Christian holiday of All Saints Day, a season where we consider the legacy of the dead, their achievements in life, and the wisdom they can pass onto us as we entertain the questions of a shattered world. To appreciate beauty at such a moment seems almost like betrayal, except that there has never been, in all of history, a convenient time for beauty. We must take it as it comes, and love it for what it is: the essential privilege of the human experience.
In the smaller world of our gardens, September’s final flush of asters and sedums has largely given way to true dilapidation. Depending on daytime temperatures, top performers like dahlias and catmint might still be doing well, but the general need to shut it all down is imperious. It’s best to take that work in stages, doing a little at a time, and taking pleasure in it. Decisions must now be made that will, on the one hand, affect the aesthetics of our gardens over the winter and, on the other, determine how hospitable they are to overwintering insects and animals. How we’ll balance these demands is up to each of us, but it’s no decision to make thoughtlessly. Essentially, it all boils down to how much dead growth you’re going to leave standing. My own approach has differed year to year, but one consistency is that I like to make these decisions standing on my back porch at night. The air is cold, the few remaining songbirds dart and thud in the undergrowth, and the moon hangs in the yellow maples like a lantern. At moments like these, the orderliness of the garden seems to diminish in importance compared with that sense of inhabitation, so ephemeral and yet essential, that living gardens give us.
As you’re considering such things, here are a few tasks that might make sense:
1/ Keep Watering Your Mums
Mums are the stalwarts of October gardening: hardy to frost and bristling with vivid color. But they are also prone to drought and feel very thirsty in the sun. As you’re busy with other tasks, don’t forget to water them every few days—more often if it’s been hot out. They will thank you by not dying, and your Halloween visitors won’t have to look at the zombie corpses of the desiccated flowerheads.
2/ Mow the Fallen Leaves—Or Don’t
One of the great curiosities of agricultural history in America is the prevalence of leaf bags. As I wrote about very early in this newsletter’s history, I’m convinced that our impulse to create unbroken, artificially-green swards of grass stems from our colonial infatuation with the clipped laws of British estates, which became popular in the Eighteenth Century right before the founding fathers began consolidating our national identity. The upshot of all that, coupled with the industrialization of plastic goods, is that bagging and trashing yardfulls of leaves has become a national pastime. And this despite the most obvious thing about leaves: they are highly biodegradable. They also provide winter homes for thousands of species of insects that turn out to be essential for our agriculture, not to mention being typically quite beautiful. Thus, if you must get rid of your leaves, I would suggest mowing them into the grass, where they will provide layers of free organic fertilizer. Degraded leaves are, after all, one of the main contributors to topsoil. But, if you do mow them in, consider leaving a large, out-of-sight patch of your lawn unmowed as a shelter for insects. In the spring, you’ll be treated to a panoply of dappled things.
3/ Compost Your Pumpkins
Americans love pumpkins with a love that is not easily understandable to outsiders. Perhaps it’s because, as colonists, we supposedly made our first beer out of pumpkins. Perhaps it’s because of their electrifying colors, so stark against an otherwise darkening landscape. Perhaps it’s just because they’re so satisfying to throw on the ground. Regardless of the reason, we buy millions of these humble squash every year and then, when they have outlived their usefulness, we dunk them in the garbage can. This is not only a stinky prospect, since pumpkins are carbon-rich and therefore reek as they decompose, but also a huge burden on the sanitation system, adding millions of pounds to the landfills each year. As an alternative, consider composting them, or donating them to one of the growing number of charities that smash and compost them for agriculture, sometimes after the very satisfying and civilized practice of launching them with trebuches.
As we grow, Asheville is regrowing. If you’d like to donate to immediate relief in my hometown of Asheville, North Carolina, you can find a list of good organizations by clicking the button below:
