Sweet Harvest

Sweet Harvest

by Teri Ong

I was putting my yard to bed yesterday.

I am always a little sad when the last vestiges of the summer are gone because it will be such a wait until things bloom again. But it is, at the same time, satisfying to finish out a season in an orderly way with everything trimmed back and tucked into a bed of mulch to sleep through the winter night.

This year I cut back my English lavender all the way to a little stump. I haven’t done that since the first year I had it in my garden. I did it then because I didn’t know any better. It came up the next spring from the little stumps I had left. The second fall, however, I didn’t get around to cutting it down, and I was amazed the next spring how new growth sprang from the old branches.

I decided to cut it this year because it was getting a little scraggly and unruly. I think it will be good to give it a fresh start. It was my last job of the day.

Fall truly fell on us this year– suddenly and harshly. We are used to having frosts and even snows fairly quickly after the first official day of autumn. But things usually warm back up, plants turn splendid colors and we enjoy a last brilliant burst of riotous beauty. But this year we didn’t have a frost– we had a freeze– a deep freeze that lasted two and a half days.

We should have had above average color this year because of the abundant foliage produced by above average moisture through the summer. But all of the fall flowers froze and the leaves on the trees have shriveled, dulled, and dropped.

So it is that I spent the day Saturday raking and bagging dead leaves, cutting down dead mums, and pulling up dead marigolds. I uprooted all of the nasty morning glory vines that froze before they had a chance to dry. Normally pulling the dried vines off of the fence is a simple job, but some of the vines and even some of the seed pods rotted and were nasty to pull.

By the time I got to the lavender at the end of the day, I was ready to rush through and be done. I got the loppers and began cutting through the woody branches with their dried, faded blooms and silvery leaves. What a delicious aroma rose up! I always forget how pleasant the smell of real lavender is– not the canned or plugged-in kind– but the real stuff.

I got down on my hands and knees so I could see better what I was doing, but also so I could be nearer the source of the lovely smell.

Friday we had a funeral at our church for a very elderly saint. She was not a member of our congregation, but her granddaughter is a dear friend of mine. I did not really know her; I did not even meet her until the stage of her life where her bloom was dry and faded, and her foliage silver-gray. But I know first hand the sweet aroma of her life through her offspring.

The idea of “seasons” of life is a well-known metaphor. But I appreciated the notion anew as I gathered up the cut lavender and enjoyed the beautiful smell. This must be the meaning of “precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.”

Some people are like the frozen morning glories– ghastly, sodden messes, blighted and frozen. Or like the lifeless, colorless leaves that shrivel and drop. I hope I will be lavender; no matter how dried or faded, still exuding beauty as I am cut down and gathered up. I hope that when I am cut back, I will leave behind a root that will spring up with new life season after season.

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