October Magic

October is the month of magic, even if you don’t believe in magic. It’s in the quality of the light, the last burst of energy in the birds and wildlife before the stillness of winter, and in the satisfaction of the harvest, both literal and figurative. I often take a couple of weeks off from writing in October, to make the most of being outdoors in pleasant weather and the warm but wistful sunshine. After all, it will have to keep me going for the better part of six months.

The garden saved my sanity this year. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but immersing myself in a garden project was a way of keeping my nerve while there was so much fear and sorrow in the world beyond. Read somewhere that gardening was the single most popular pastime this summer, so I wasn’t alone in this. Of course, so many things had to be done so differently than in the past—no spontaneous forays to the garden centers, no quick runs to the hardware store for hose washers—but like most gardeners, I find getting around obstacles absorbing and stimulating. Much like writing novels.

At first, in the spring, I made do with what I had on hand and what could be ordered along with groceries from the local superstore. This led to too many pots of petunias and marigolds when my heart really wanted perennials, but I went with it because I wanted to have something, anything, that gave me back—what? Control? Normalcy? I couldn’t put it into words yet, but I kept going, on pure instinct.

Time and persistence (and perhaps an element of obsession) is the stuff of magic. By mid-summer, I’d found an online source of excellent perennials, and also found a way to get the materials for a much-desired arbor and trellis. Abracadabra! By the first days of October, the garden finally began to feel right, and I understood what it was I longed for: a sanctuary.

Ironically, it was literally there in front of me the entire time, in a garden plaque embossed with an old Amos Bronson Alcott quote:

Who loves a garden, still his Eden keeps, Perennial pleasures plants, and wholesome harvests reaps.

And the restless obsession subsided. Something of terrible importance got done. The pandemic anxiety didn’t win, at least not yet. The bones of the garden are now in place, awaiting the climbing clematis and spiking leaves of irises. The surrounding lawn awaits a game of bocce ball and my granddaughter’s cartwheels. In peace, in safety, surrounded by trees great and small, amid the birds, bees, butterflies, squirrels and rabbits and deer.

Now it is late October, time to get this Garden 2.0 ready for the upcoming hard freeze, to set up a fire pit and wind break for the chilly days. There will be a bird feeder along with the bird bath, and in time some holiday lights, for a sanctuary is open all year ‘round. Some of the nicer annuals left from spring, the geraniums and calibrachoa, apparently can be overwintered, so I’m going to give that a try, too. If it works, that’s free flowers for next year. Almost like perennials. Almost like magic.