It’s the shortest day of the year.   Not much light and not much gardening. There’s still a fair amount of snow/ice on the ground in my yard and more to come tonight. The new moon is on Christmas Eve so there really isn’t much light tonight. But with the shortest day of the year, Midwinter, comes the promise of light. Each new day will bring moments more of sunlight until once again, we will be basking in the glow of springtime, new leaves, new shoots and new flowers.

The Ancient Ones celebrated the seasons with the rhythms of the land, as I do mostly. The agricultural seasons followed the cycles of the plants and animals with the the rhythms of sowing, tending, and reaping of vegetation and the animal births of Spring, driving the cattle to summer pastures at the beginning of May, and the sacrifice of animals for survival through Winter. This is still true in much of Britain and the Celtic lands. There, the time around December 21 is still called Midwinter.

Most people, especially here in America, think of the Solstice as the first day of Winter. But look outside, it’s cold and snowy even in October. The weather we typically have in November doesn’t strike me as fall. I tend to be done with landscaping season by the first of December every year. We don’t plant after October and just clean up and cut back in November. If you think of Solstice as being almost half way through winter, then it really gives meaning to the coming of light and the hope that Solstice brings. Look outside in February and you will see the beginning of Spring, buds starting, grass turning, animals giving birth.

But today, the snow is just starting to gently fall and it’s almost dark outside at 4:30 p.m, the longest night of the year. So we light a candle and let it burn through the night to remind the light to come again and stay for a little longer each day. We have hope and faith that the new year will bring lots of new growth and new gardening – let the circle be unbroken.

The harvest is in, the veil between the worlds has thinned, Halloween has passed, the saints and souls have been celebrated. The light is leaving and darkness closing in. We are lighting fires to warm us and bring us light. Here, we’ve had 2 good snow storms in a week’s time. The world is slowing; animals burrowing; gardening coming to a close for a while.

This year the snow came early as the veil between the worlds thinned. We are going into fall in a much better position than we did last year. We are getting moisture, much needed moisture to keep the trees and shrubs alive during the winter. The frost played a little havoc on the end of the veggie crops. Harvest was cut a little short by the early snow. I was out of town and didn’t get to can any tomatoes this year. Amazing as it seems with all the zucchini plants we had, I only made one batch of zucchini bread.

The end of harvest signifies the end of summer, the lighter half of the year. We now move to the dark side of the year; where the sun comes up later and sets earlier. There are many festivals signifying the end of the light and the beginning of the dark. Samhain celebrates the end of Harvest and the beginning of the dark and the Festival of the Dead celebrates those who have passed before us. Here in the states we have Daylight Savings Time ending.

We are raking leaves, emptying fountains, pulling annuals from their pots and storing. In a last ditch effort to redeem our worth, we plant pansies and bulbs, telling the world to wait through the dark until the light comes again. We, too, are starting to burrow, following instincts set forth millenia past. Work is coming to a close for this year, now it’s time to start thinking of something else to do for the dark; something to do until we are called again to till the soil and plant.

I have a never-ending list of things to do, the list that will take a life time; the one we all put off for a rainy day. Sometimes projects get done and crossed from the list in my head. Sometimes I find other work to fill my days. But for now, there are still a couple of weeks of getting ready for the darkness, putting the gardens to bed, making sure there is sufficient water for the trees to ask them to drop their leaves and slumber for a bit in an effort to spring forth anew months from now.

Hopefully there will be more days to worship the sun before it’s too cold to play outside. It’s 11 degrees this morning, but hope springs eternal as is said. The darkness gives us time; time to reflect, time to rest from our toils and time to slumber. As the plants, so should we set our roots to strengthen for blooms and grandeur in the springs ahead. So, here’s to the rest of a glorious fall, wistful remembering of vacations passed and pondering the gratefulness of our bounties. Here’s to sharing our harvests and our friendships in the darkness ahead and to the lightness to come.

It’s Labor Day; the end of summer vacations; the last hurrah before we settle in to school, the last big barbeque, the start of hunkering down for winter.  Labor Day is the unofficial beginning of fall, just weeks before the autumnal equinox, the real start to fall.  It celebrates the workers, giving us a much needed “respite”.

It’s been a hot, horrible summer here.  It seems like it has been in the upper 90s since June.  We’ve had no moisture since then and with all the heat, the ground is baked and hard, the weeds prolific and difficult to remove.  But, it’s September, it’s Labor Day, we’ve turned the corner, back to school, thinking of the winter ahead.

The changes have been subtle.  Most don’t even notice the slight modification in the color of the leaves, the squirrels gathering furiously, not playing so much, the spiders starting to find a way inside, the fur thickening on the cat.  It’s dark when I get up now and even as I write this, there’s still more moon glow than sunrise facing west.  When the sun does rise now, it’s more spectacular, fiercer, oranger, hinting for the leaves to do the same.

The ash and locust trees sport yellow leaves, the maples a tint of red, the burning bushes firing up.  The sky is a different shade of blue and the vegetable harvest is peaking.  Pumpkins are turning orange – pumpkins are my favorite!  It was 44 yesterday when I got up – it was chilly and there were no zucchini or squash on the vines.  But warm days are still ahead.  These omens are our call to pay attention.  Pay attention to the bursts of color on the mums, the fading of petunias, the need for orange in the landscape, the glory of seed heads instead of flowers, the rose hips.  Soon, it will all be gone.  Soon I will be cleaning up spent flowers, cutting back perennials and raking leaves.

This is Labor Day, the last hurrah, the last day at the pool, the last picnic.  This is the beginning to the season of calm, subtlety, reflection before the craziness of the next holidays.  There’s still time enough for work, for planting, canning, cutting, raking, but today is a respite for the American Worker.  Revel in the day, but pay attention, watch the sun set lower in the sky, the birds flying south, the trees changing colors, the temperatures dipping.  Pay attention to the wonders of fall.

It’s been a long hard 6 weeks. It’s been cold, windy, warm, wet, snowy, rainy and mild. Tonight, the last working day in April, I took a long, hot bath, soaking my bruised, scratched, achy body. My hands don’t come clean without a lot of scrubbing; they are dry, cracked, lines forming on them from the desiccating effects of dirt. I rubbed my cuticles with oil and put on my cotton gloves – an old trick from my grandmother’s time. A respite.

I’ve taken the night off. No bills, no bids, no invoices, no phone calls, no calendars, no paperwork. Glasses of wine and a book. A respite.

It’s been a strange winter, no moisture, no snow, wind that won’t stop. I promise myself I’ve never lived in Wyoming, but maybe the boundaries changed and no one told me. In the last month a lot could have happened and I wouldn’t have noticed. Work this time of year is all consuming.

Lawns are greening up, trees have flowered and leafed, daffodils and hyacinths have come and some gone, tulips are blooming. The nights are warming, the days are longer, the cats are shedding, the phone rings incessantly. Aaahhh, spring – a respite – from the darkness, the cold, the silence, the solitude.

In the last week or two, we’ve had rain; much needed rain. A respite from the harshness we’ve endured the past 6 months. But the mountains here have not shared our drought, needed no such respite. They’ve had more snow than in years past and the skiing is still good at the end of April. If it warms up gradually, spring and summer will be prolific. If it turns 70 and above and stays there, as is usually the case, how much will be lost to flooding?

Last year at the first of May, we moved to a new house. It started out filled with junipers and sod. The day after we closed I started ripping those junipers out. I had a blank slate. We did a lot in the yard our first year. The inside was done (except for paint since I can’t stand white walls). We have a hill up to the Rocky Mountain Ditch. Last year, water started flowing in the ditch the first of May. It’s been flowing for over a week now. A respite from the dry, barren soil; a respite for the birds, the wildlife, the bees. We added a water feature, edging, dry stream beds, mulch and plants. I swore this time I would follow a plan for the yard. I spent weeks (when I could) working on a design, laying out the plants just so on paper. My respite would be a well planned, exquisitely laid out garden; everything would be according to the plan. But by it’s very nature, a respite is short lived; an interval.

I should know myself better by now. Oh, honey, here, I had to take these half dead butterfly bushes from a client’s. Here’s a tree that may or may not live. Let’s plant it somewhere in the yard and see if it will come back. We were throwing these perennials away after we dug them up. It doesn’t matter where you put them, they need sun and we have lots of that. Oh look, Home Depot is having a sale – I can’t buy these perennials that cheap from the wholesalers. Sure, put them anywhere, we have a ton of room. Plants and planting – a much needed respite.

Tomorrow is May Day, the Celtic celebration of Beltane, Green Man vs. Brown Man. Banishing the Old Hag by the Young Maiden, bringing forth the new, fecund life, leaving behind the darkness. The respite from winter we’ve all been waiting for. But respite it is, a brief rest, as we await the Three Ice Men, the frost that doesn’t pass until mid-May. This is my respite – today, tomorrow; we are almost done with clean ups; we’ve started planting trees and shrubs come this next week. But mid-May, after the Ice Men, there is no respite for another 6 weeks. Hooray for spring!