On Late Bloomers
It isn't always the light that tells flowers when to bloom.
Today, I walked out to the garden and harvested flowers. I believe they will be the last of them, not because of the weather, but because of me. I think we often forget we have a choice as a gardener. We forget that sometimes we need rest too or that things need to change and that we don’t have to wait for the right time or, in this case, the first frost to make that decision. We can allow nature to guide us in more than one way.
I love the blooming flowers, but the mildew has increased, and my time has been fragmented. There are other ways the garden can feed us, which doesn’t mean through the soil and the plants giving fruit. Maybe it is by teaching us to rest. Maybe it is teaching us how to let go. Maybe it is just watching the chickens and the birds enjoy what is left out there. There can be enjoyment even in the changing of things. There can be complete and utter release in the free fall into something new.
I have chosen this fall to undergo a transition in self and career that I have known was coming deep in my bones for some time. I knew the time would reveal itself, and now here we are. I could have sat and waited till everything screamed it was done, but I felt the shift being okay to make in other, more subtle ways. Everything was guiding me there, so why not just jump?
Even in the unpredictable, there is something to celebrate. We can find solid ground even in the uneasiness of navigating new paths.
Navigating transition is never easy, but I love that I am doing this in alignment with the seasons. It has left me more present with nature and looking to it, asking “why?” and “how?” as the landscape is transitioning in its own way. It has increased my curiosity about nature in a new way. I am learning there is immense joy even in the shifting of everything. Even in the unpredictable, there is something to celebrate. We can find solid ground even in the uneasiness of navigating new paths.
I have always been a very in-tune-with-nature type of person. I am a Capricorn; after all, it doesn’t surprise me I have found this to be a natural time to shift and change. There is this conversation told to us as women that it takes three years after our last child to feel like ourselves. The door birth opened for us to walk through finally begins to make sense as to what all the transition has meant in developing who we have become because of this life change. I sense that. I see it similarly to the seasons as well. Each year is similar to one of the four seasons to rebuild us, shape us, and help us understand the process of healing and growth. Birth and first year are similar to winter. The next year is like spring. Then comes summer, when it eases but is still busy and full, then Autumn, when we shed the past few years, and we send that little one on to their new things. The baby clothes and items are packed away or let go as we place a backpack and lunchbox in a bag to send them off, and our days shift into being our own, even if just for small moments. There is ease, grief, excitement, and a sense of revealing who we have become. Our world pushes us to believe we must move faster than that. I fight it all the time, but when I sit back and see this, it feels incredibly true in every inch of my body.
Being nearly four years since giving birth to my youngest and last child. There is a sense that this self and career shift are part of this point in the process. I am finding and discovering these parts of who I am that feel as if their space was just now available to them. I feel like the trees…turning my true colors for the first time in a long time. Then I coincide that with conscious work in therapy; there is some level of growth and understanding in me that feels awakened, but none of that is easy. I will tell you that. It takes a lot of internal work on my roots, embracing fears, and holding beliefs about myself. Much of which no one will ever see. I sense this is what the trees feel, too. They shift their energy without anyone ever noticing until the colors of who they are are revealed. That work started the moment their leaves opened, I believe, because the work in me has taken that sort of time as well.
We forget that growth and change take time. They take seasons. In fact, building healthy soil is no different than growing a great perennial garden. These things are small and hard to see until they bloom and are visible. The engine is working hard before it is ever apparent, and I want to take that as a celebration into this season that can hold grief, loss, nostalgia, and sadness so close to the beauty of everything. Finding ways to celebrate as we connect with who this year has made us and shift energy into our roots to sustain us and rebuild us through winter.
I sense this is what the trees feel, too. They shift their energy without anyone ever noticing until the colors of who they are are revealed. That work started the moment their leaves opened, I believe, because the work in me has taken that sort of time as well.
I always feel most inspired in autumn and winter with my writing, but I think it is because of how everything feels held so closely together in this sense. For instance, I feel sadness about clipping some of the last flowers and harvesting the final tomatoes, but I also feel immense joy, gratitude, and life coming from it all. It reminds me never to forget that many things can be true simultaneously. We can find beauty and sadness sidled up right next to one another, and in fact, I feel life is best when it sits that way. Something about the bittersweet isn’t there?
I plan to spend the coming weeks in further awareness and reflection of the complications that come with the emotions of becoming and shaping into ourselves. I plan to sit with the endings of the garden as if they are similar to mine. Holding them like the final flowers, I am in gratitude, already missing them before they left, but also excited to see what will come after a time of rest and fresh soil.
If you are a paid subscriber, you will get a deeper dive through events, chats with me, guides, and far more this season. I cannot wait to help you navigate this grand transition and how it can teach us about making big and little moves in life, from one time of our day to another or shifting our careers. I will help you hear and apply nature's answers and guidance.
I am so excited about your response to the change in the podcast. It has been life-giving to embrace this space in a fresh way as we enter fall. I am excited to let it continue to shape and evolve. The best way to support and keep this space free is to like or subscribe to the feed through the Apple podcast app. You can also leave a review, which is the most helpful!
This week, I also shared these posts for subscribers:
Shedding the Old - Seasonal Essay
Welcome the Harvest Moon - Last week’s free essay
10/6 Reflection - The Late Bloomer
There is a clear favorite flower in our garden. It is the cosmo. I have always said that I hope my children see me in the floating of the cosmos in their gardens one day when I am no longer with them. The flower is wild, freeing, and readily seeds itself while also a wonderful food source for birds and pollinators alike. Even though they are not native flowers, they still give endlessly in the garden. The way they bounce and float is just artful to me. They have always inspired me to wave amongst the winds of life a little more freely. To be weird and funky and a little bit whimsical.
Every year, though, I always have late blooming cosmos. They come on right in September as summer transitions to fall. It never fails. Though I will have the white ones come later in August and the pink double clicks in July that precede the dahlias and zinnias, a few always struggle far behind. They are waiting for their perfect amount of light and darkness. In fact, the cosmo sometimes needs at least 12 hours of darkness to bloom. Yes, darkness, not light. They thrive in the decent of the sunlight, not in the heightening of it. What a thought.
When I learned this years ago from a farmer, I saw them in a completely new way. It was then that the cosmos became my favorite. Sure, their blooms are magic, as I have mentioned, but the sheer fact that they thrive in the receding of the light gave me a new sense of awe.
I thought then what it is to be a late bloomer. The one that chooses later than others to open themselves to the world and reveal their blooms. You arrive at your perfect time when everything else is ready to let go and head to bed. When the rudbeckia is waning and the sunflowers have faded, you decide it is time to shine amongst the darkening days. I value the cosmo for this.
So, it is no surprise that I headed out another early autumn evening to find one of our apricot cosmos finally opening itself for the first time on the last day of September. I sat in awe that this was when it wanted to bloom and saw it as the bravest of all the flowers we grew this year. Some would say they arrived late to the party, but I see it otherwise: they showed up right when they were supposed to, and I felt inspired by their bravery.
I felt deep gratitude for the lessons these flowers can bring. Even in the descending light of autumn, they still bloom. Even when they know the cool weather is coming, they don’t fade but instead open up in new ways. Even if they know their window is narrow, they shine with every ounce of who they are. It left me asking how can I find comfort in doing this as well. Instead of saying, “it’s too late.” Saying, “no, I am right on time. My time.”
*** These reflections are intended to help you see the truth from the land I hear throughout the week and spend time with it. Longer-form essays have moved to paid subscriptions on Wednesdays. ***
This section is intended to give you a way to look at this season every week. They are high-level ways to connect to the rhythms of your daily life.
Food is the vehicle of the seasons.
Many people ask me what is the best way to live more in tune with the seasons, and I always give two very quick answers: A garden and your food. When we first moved back to Michigan, we came at the end of September. We had a 6-month-old who hated the car, yet we lived miles and miles from any store, so I became reliant on the farm stands surrounding us. Even in the cold, blowy days of November and March, they still held onions, leeks, spinach, maple syrup, eggs, and more. I learned quickly how to cook with what we had right by us. At first, it was annoying and hard, but then it became comforting, and I paid attention to how eating the fresh food right there and from the soil surrounding us felt like some sort of praise for my home.
We had moved from living next to Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods to eating from stands that only took cash. We made apple and squash soup and baked simple bread. We had eggs for breakfast with spinach and made onion jam for our morning toast. I wasn’t growing my own food but relying on those around me to do it for us. I met new people, built a community, and learned what it meant to eat with the seasons during those years out at the end of a peninsula. It sounds romantic, but I think only because of how much this is what we intend to do…only I was forced into it, and I am thankful for it.
Autumn is a beautiful time to begin this practice. Even if just a few things. Even if just taking that step to head to the farm market or finding a fall/winter farm share or CSA. This is an abundant time. After all, Autumn aligns with the latter part of our days when the warm meals arrive at the dinner table, and we gather together. Something about eating food grown by the hands of farmers in your community makes it feel like you gather together in more than one way this time of year.
Many tell me this is a beautiful idea but impractical, maybe because of location, finances, etc., but I ask instead, why is that the case? This way of living isn’t new, and I believe we all long for this connection more than ever. Sometimes, it takes showing up a little to start shifting those truths.
I hope you find a way to cook a few things from your local farms weekly. It may surprise you just how it shifts your ideas of community, connection, soil, environment, and, most of all, your connection to the seasons we transcend together.
Here are the things this week that I have been holding at the top of my mind and enjoying right now. Feel free to comment below anything you also love! I would love to hear in the comments. You all usually have some amazing things.
Reading: A friend just dropped off Soil by Camille Dungy, and I cannot wait to dig into it. Thank you, Beth! I have followed Camille for a while. Her writing is beautiful and amazing. This one feels incredibly important, and I cannot wait to read it.
Listening: I love Brandi Carlile. In fact, the day I found out I was pregnant with our son, we attended her concert. I felt miserable, but it was amazing. When I had my daughter, her song The Mother spoke deeply to me. She has always written things that have connected me. This one has been immensely perfect this month already. It reminds me to go out and just be present. Ps. I don’t listen to many podcasts. It’s hard to intake others’ thoughts, but music is my thing.
Eyeing: I have been loving the greens at the market so far this month. Summer was hot this year, and I felt the greens were meh from most of the farms and our garden. The weather shifted just enough, and the greens are outstanding right now. I just snagged from arugula and tatsoi that is perfection at the market this week.
I also want to tell you my favorite thing I buy EVERY year is now live. Our local watering hole, Farm Club, and my friend, Lindsay Gardener, work together to create this magical calendar that supports Leelanau Conservancy. It’s amazing and beautiful! Go nab one before they sell out. Farmer Nic Theisen gives the words, and Lindsay captures the seasons on the farm in her gorgeous illustrations.Doing: Part of transitioning into a new phase of self has been doing something I have longed to do for a long time: teaching Middle School students about gardening. I was nearly a middle school art teacher, so it doesn’t surprise me I have had this passion. I love middle schoolers because I find them so interesting and in a state of transition from childhood to adulthood. That said, this fall and winter semester, I have six students I am taking through the garden every Friday for 2 hours. This week, we have our farm market to sell items and things we have been tending and creating. I cannot wait to watch them sell things and take on this challenge themselves. Teaching is a huge passion of mine. If kids can cultivate a love for nature early in life, they will find it a powerful tool in their adult life.
Thinking about: Skiing. Yes, you read that right. I felt the first cool snip of air, and all I could think about were my new boots and getting out on the hills again this winter. Yes, this also means you will hear about my skiing in my writing. I love downhill and cross-country skiing. I grew up on skis. I typically ski Nordic-style for cross country, but I hope to get into skate style this year. I have been doing workouts specifically to build strength for this. I recently told my friend I work out to garden and ski. Ha. In fact, my 40th birthday dream gift is to go to Norway or Finland for three weeks in January and cross-country ski out there. I have a few years still to plan that one.
Cooking: I have been eyeing Julius Roberts’s new cookbook that works through the seasons from his farm in England. He is a chef from London turned farmer, and the cookbook goes through the seasons. His Instagram is also very inspiring as well. I love his raw and real take on cooking from the garden and land.
Paying Attention to: The flowers. The final ones are just tragically life-giving. Yes, I said that. I could write a whole memoir on the flowers in my life. They all speak so specifically. Maybe one day. I love what is still blooming AND the dead ones and giving to the birds.
Every season, I create a playlist on my Spotify. This one is fall, and I took the nostalgic tone here. A little more pop forward this year, but if you want any of my other fall playlists, you can find 2022, 2021, 2020, and 2019.
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