Locking
I’ve never felt this summer warmth so late in the year. In my memory, the last summer breath can’t be felt on skin after 2nd October here on the borders of Essex, Herts and Cambs. I know because it is a special date in our house and that’s when I stop wearing shorts.
Last weekend I put all my summer clothes away. A good frost last week had me bringing in all the house plants from their Summer sojourn on the terrace in the garden at home, on the plant bench and table in the gardens. The canna’s are still on the trolley, inside the polytunnel, until I work out what to do with them. All the dahlias were singed and burnt though since valiantly continued to flower. The Banana wasn’t touched outside, yet the hosts turned yellow overnight.
I love this period. Between conkers and deeply frosted soil.
Some of the perennials have been lifted, split and replanted. Seeds sown in earnest for early summer flowers. The last flowers of the season, Chrysanthemums are blooming in the polytunnel, and might do until Christmas.
Now, at the end of the growing season proper, I can get down to it. What might be the fun bit. Now without the pressure of orders, there are a few short weeks do as much as I can before significant frosts or very heavy rain means it is best to leave the soil, plants and garden to rest a while.
Inspired by Kurt Vonnegut, this period between summer and winter is more than simply autumn, there is a liminal space between, the hallway amid autumn and winter, locking.
One sort of optional thing you might do is to realise that there are six seasons instead of four. The poetry of four seasons is all wrong for this part of the planet, and this may explain why we are so depressed so much of the time. I mean, spring doesn’t feel like spring a lot of the time, and November is all wrong for autumn, and so on.
Here is the truth about the seasons: Spring is May and June. What could be springier than May and June? Summer is July and August. Really hot, right? Autumn is September and October. See the pumpkins? Smell those burning leaves? Next comes the season called Locking. November and December aren’t winter. They’re Locking. Next comes winter, January and February. Boy! Are they ever cold!
What comes next? Not spring. ‘Unlocking’ comes next. What else could cruel March and only slightly less cruel April be? March and April are not spring. They’re Unlocking.
Kurt Vonnegut
From his 1978 commencement speech at Fredonia State College in upstate New York.
The season of locking and unlocking.
Suddenly the nights feel short. I want to be cosy. Heated blanket on and reading books in bed. Rich soups and roasted pans of jewel like vegetables. Jumpers, thick socks and blankets.
The six seasons fit well into the flower growers calendar too.