Going to Seed
and a bit about death
I’ve been thinking about the phrase, “Going to Seed” because that’s where Autumn finds the garden. While there’s still beauty and color to be had, there are more seedheads than blooms this time of year. “Going to Seed” has a negative connotation: being in a state of decline, having lost vigor and value, and suggestive of something lifeless and shriveled.
Though the seed stage signifies the end of the growing season, it is certainly not without life. The autumn garden represents the culmination of the life of the entire growing season: all the rain and the sunlight that brought the plant from seedling to flower, from flowering and fruiting, with the help of a pollinator or two. Then from fruiting the seed, which contains the promise of the next growing season in its tiny seed coat.
But as I look at the leaves fallen to the ground, which are dry and shriveled, I cannot deny that death is a part of it too. There is a loss of color and vigor this time of year, a literal loss of life.
It is tempting to disregard the impact of fall and winter as if it’s like hitting the pause button on a remote control. Just a chilly break until we can get the show going again. But it’s not merely a pause. It is a death, an end.
I love that the Mexican celebration of the Day of the Dead, which turns our grappling with death into a celebration. It can be colorful and sweet, with bright marigolds and tasty foods. Home altars, called ofrendas, include photos and special items to remember loved ones who have passed. It doesn’t have to be all loss and tears.
Though not Mexican, our family started doing a home altar years ago when I was in grief counseling, trying to heal from the stillbirth of our son Dominic. I didn’t know how to navigate the powerful emotions brought forth from grief. No one likes to talk about death, so we often pretend it doesn’t exist. This attitude doesn’t give us proper tools for healing, however.
Instead of pictures on our altar, we tie on ribbons with people’s names on them who have passed. Doing this helped me find an outlet for my grief. It also helped me find context for loss. When I tie on Dominic’s ribbon, I tie it alongside his great grandparents, extended family, and friends. And playfully, we include celebrities we loved from afar like Prince and Anthony Bourdain. He is in all kinds of good company.
Back to the garden, we know that the death brought by autumn and winter does not have the last word. The Earth speaks her own language of resurrection. Seeing and knowing that gives me hope. No matter the long nights of winter, there will be flowers again.
Till Next Time - Peace!
Ashley