The flowers are taking a little break, and so is the gardener (that’s me).

It’s already time to put the garden to bed, and there is still so much I don’t know:  how to get poppies and nigella to germinate, whether snapdragons will overwinter under straw, how many tulips I can really afford, and whether anyone will object if I plant a small variety of mock orange in the perennial bed.

I do know this:  two cherry tomato plants is two too many.  Next year: one Roma.  That’s it, I swear.

I like the thought of a growing curve.  I’ve been learning, yes – but it’s not certain that what I learned this year will apply in the next. We don’t know if we’ll have a historic drought or a warm, wet summer.  The hay I spread smothered the weeds in the scorching heat, but maybe next year it will damp-off the seedlings instead, in long, drawn out spring like we used to have.

But I did grow to love the dahlias that were not the colors or forms I had hoped – love them for their strange quirky petals and the haven they provided to so many bees I was sometimes scared to reach in and cut them. And I grew to believe there would be flowers waiting for me on Saturday, if I took care of the water and wrangled some rickety twine and stake supports they could lean on while they budded and leaved and rooted in the dirt.  And I’m growing to think I can do more next year, for no particular reason except to find out how we can grow further, the garden and me, into places yet to be discovered.