For the last twenty years of her life my mother lived in the south of England town of Haywards Heath, in tiny house nicknamed the Doll’s House surrounded by a small but very special garden. Always the meticulous gardener, my mother tended her perennials, roses and other shrubs, along with a few pampered tomato plants growing in bags of compost along the warm south-facing wall of the house. And each October she visited her nearby garden center for their ‘Autumn Bulb Special’… one price for as many bulbs, of any variety and any size, that the customer could cajole into a single garden center bag. Each year, she would delight in seeing how many wonderful new bulbs she could wiggle and squeeze into her bag. Before the weather turned cold she would then plant her new treasures in different parts of her garden. Although in her late eighties, she followed this yearly ritual with the full expectation of being here to enjoy them the following spring.

For gardeners, young and old, autumn and early winter is the bridge between the garden past and the garden yet to come. This precious time, after a killing frost sends plants into dormancy but before the ground freezes so that no fork can penetrate, is borrowed time for the gardener. We are never sure how long we have, but we try to make every hour count. And it is an opportunity to do so much more than traditional fall ‘clean up’ chores of raking leaves and cutting back perennials (reminiscent of being asked to ‘clean up’ my bedroom as child). This is the time when, like my mother, with her unswerving optimism, I create the garden of the future. Like all gardeners each fall I plant some new bulbs, and I also spread compost, divide and move perennials, and prune the shrubs for architectural form. I also contemplate the spatial design of my uncluttered garden, analyzing what has worked and how things could be improved. And, weather permitting, this is by far the best time of year to create a new bed or renovate one that has seen better days.

For many of us planting bulbs is certainly a fall ritual. Since my Vermont garden is over a decade old, my initial plantings of daffodils, avoided by both rodents and deer, have multiplied beyond belief. So in recent years I have no need to plant more daffodils; (in fact I like to divide and move my daffodils in the spring, after flowering, but while the green leaves tell me where the bulbs are located). Instead, each fall I seek out some lesser known bulbs, such as the early blooming Iris reticulata, which grows just 4” high, or the June flowering giant summer snowdrop Leucojum aestivum, which likes a moist spot. Most years I will also plant some more oriental lilies in my perennial beds. I plant my lilies by digging out a wide trough about 8” deep, and adding a 3” layer of ground oyster shell (available at farm stores as a chicken feed additive) in which I carefully place these expensive bulbs. I use the scratchy oyster shell in hopes of deterring hungry rodents from feasting on my lilies over the coming winter.

Autumn is also the time when I take apart my four 4-foot square wire-mesh compost containers and spread the humus rich mixture over the vegetable and flower beds. I also dismantle the large plastic drum where we dump the kitchen compost all year long. It has mostly decomposed by now, and I spread everything (except the most recent additions, which go back in the bottom of the drum) under roses and other plants that enjoy a rich diet.

Late fall is also the best time of year to divide and renew those perennials that, over time, have lost some of their zest for life. Many perennials, such as tall garden phlox (Phlox paniculata), daylilies (Hemerocallis), purple coneflowers (Echinacea), and iris, gradually lose their flower power if they are not divided every five years or so. Start by digging up the complete clump. For very large clumps of daylilies and Siberian iris this may be easier said than done, but persevere. Take a stout garden fork and dig all around the clump, then gradually leverage up the entire root mass. Next, push two garden forks, placed back-to-back, into the root mass, and work them back and forth against each other, until parts of the root mass pull apart. Continue until you have four or more ‘new’ plants. If you see entwined weed roots, soak everything in water. Then gently remove all roots that are not part of your precious garden plant. Now the clean, divided roots are ready to be replanted as part of your new bed design, or shared with gardening friends. You can safely plant dormant roots providing the soil is not waterlogged and until the ground freezes. But, unless you expect reliable snow cover, take the precaution of mulching them to discourage heaving out of the ground over the winter; chopped up fallen leaves work well for this.

In high summer, it is the flowers, with their vibrant colors and quilted textures, which demand my attention. But now, by late autumn, the containers are put away and the garden beds are brown. All that remains, after annuals and perennials succumb to the first heavy frost, are the trees and shrubs. These are the plants that horticulturists endearingly call ‘woodies’. Like many gardeners, I think of them as the ‘bones’ of the garden. And now the bones are laid bare. I can see, all too clearly, where I have a jarring jumble of trunks and twigs, rather than several carefully placed groups of shrubs to define my garden beds.

But I do not despair if my initial designs somehow did not quite work to my complete satisfaction. One autumn I remade my large eighty-foot bed that encloses the entire west side of the garden. I created this bed initially when my husband and I moved to Vermont a decade earlier, and populated it entirely with all the perennials I could gather from my previous garden at the time of our move. With much care, and over six trips, I had transported my favorites from New Jersey to Vermont in a little trailer towed behind my Volkswagen. I had then planted the new arrivals in the hastily prepared bed, with little thought as to placement, other than putting tall plants at the back and shorter ones in front. Over the years, I had added shrubs and additional perennials in available spots. I knew from the outset this is not the best way to design a garden bed, but the overall results have been surprisingly satisfying. And given our busy lifestyle, this layout had sufficed!

After ten years, however, I decided that this was the time to create a whole new look with a more cohesive structure I went to work, first moving some smaller shrubs and then dividing and repositioning most of the perennials as well. A few new perennials were purchased and planted to round out the color scheme. The weather gods smiled, and after two weeks of daily toil it seemed as though I had moved almost every plant possible, and in addition chased down a quite few sneaky weeds. I was thoroughly satisfied with my efforts, like Alice in Wonderland’s grinning Cheshire Cat. I could see the desired shrub outline. Large perennial groups had been divided, and everything positioned to provide broad clumps of color throughout the coming growing seasons. It was like giving the living room a complete make-over: rearranging the furniture, changing the colors and pictures on the walls, and getting new window curtains as well. Although it would take a couple of years for all the perennials to completely fill out, even by the following summer the overall result was delightful.

I am also a stickler for shrubs that have beautiful form. I still remember visiting several Japanese public gardens in mid-March, and being captivated by the spatial design of the land and the form of the trees and shrubs. Shapes on the ground made beautiful flowing curves, and every tree was a living sculpture. Japanese gardeners prune their trees to remove all central clutter, exposing the lines of the trunk and main scaffold branches. Beautiful shapes are then created by carefully snipping a side branch here and there. The results are stunningly stark and beautiful, especially without summer’s leaves or blossoms. Now, in my garden, I study the underlying line and form of my own trees and shrubs in wintertime, deciding in an unhurried manner where to make careful cuts. I will actually prune those that bloom later in the season as well as any that have insignificant flowers. I make mental notes for next year to attend to shrubs like lilacs and azaleas since, for early bloomers, it is desirable to wait until after flowering for the actual pruning if you do not want to sacrifice the coming year’s blossoms.

These are just a few examples of delightful garden making activities I undertake in our quiet season. Rather than approaching this time with sadness for the loss of summer’s excitement and grandeur, this is a time to optimistically anticipate the future, and to make anew. Early winter is truly a bridge to the garden yet to come.

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