Of course, it isn't the end of the blooming season. I've made sure to plant autumn-blooming crocuses, winter-blooming hellebores, and early-spring blooming snowdrops so I should never be without something in bloom in my garden, even after the frost.
Perpetual spring, as they call it, when something new is always in bloom. They being Elizabeth Lawrence, Canon Henry Nicholson Ellacombe, and Sir Francis Bacon. You want links to those brilliant gardeners/writers? Not today. I'm far too lazy for links today. You can search online for them. Include the words "May Dreams Gardens" in your online search criteria and you might even find my past posts about them. (Or use the search box above.)
Anyway, in a blink an entire growing season flashed before my eyes.
From last frost to first frost, so much happens in a garden. Good stuff, like flowers and vegetables. Quiet moments at dusk when the fireflies rise up and twinkle like stars. Loud moments in the sunshine when my mower joins a neighborhood symphony of other mowers. And all the moments in between.
Bad stuff happens, too, like too much rain and then not enough rain. And weeds that came out of nowhere along with pests that decided my garden was a good place to stop and well, be a pest. (I'm talking to you, Japanese beetles, and you, squash bugs, and you know who you are, you.)
In hindsight, which is what you have immediately after the first frost, none of the bad was all that bad because through it all, I still had a garden, a place with my favorite plants, a place to call my own. And I can still work in my garden. I can still plant and prune and putter about.
So here's to you, growing season of '19. I started you with hopes you'd be the best one yet. And maybe you were? And maybe that doesn't even matter? What matters now is that I finish you off with a flourish of weeding and cleaning up so the growing season of '20, which hopefully arrives in another blink, will have its chance, too, to be the best one yet.