don't cut back your garden in the fall

there is a bird in this photo... a round little common yellowthroat. keep looking.

the title of this post is an indicator of where i'd like to take you next: into the garden, into allowing wildness, into letting go and letting nature... where beneficial plants are concerned, that is. 

i've taken my leave of instagram and facebook and have spent many a minute missing my favorite feeds, the ones showcasing art (like @carsonellis) and the ones showcasing beautiful native landscapes (like @monarchgardensbenjaminvogt). but i particularly miss the native garden community. i have become something of a plant enthusiast in the last few years, and can now identify a number of plants out in the wild that i never could have even five years ago, which feels pretty good (one of those things you notice and think, oh, i HAVE been productive in these seemingly unproductive years!). 

but back to the title of this post.

yesterday, on my walk through the neighborhoods of my town, i saw what used to be a beautiful yardful of asters, purple and periwinkle clouds of them, gone. in their place, a man with shears. the asters had been cut back to brown stubs and the yard was now a vacant, empty-eyed face with nothing to offer anyone... not birds nor humans nor any living thing. and for what?

seriously, for WHAT? what is this tradition of chopping your beautiful plants off at their ankles? truly benighted behavior. let's stop this tradition right here. i too used to cut back plants like this. because that's what i saw in my neighbors' yards. (if you've paged through nature's best hope by doug tallamy, you know that's how many a garden tradition is begun, and why so many of us insist on including exotic, sometimes invasive plants in our gardens). but now i let my garden age in the fall. the tall grasses and flower stalks turn glowing shades of coral and gold when fall cools the evening temperatures. seedheads emerge as bird buffet tables. foliage offers shelter through the early months of autumn. this year we had a common yellowthroat living in our rain garden, a first, and the juncos and white-throated sparrows descend regularly. goldfinches have learned that our yard is full of snacks. the birdbath is dry but full of hyssop and coneflower seeds.

we are missing control in our lives right now. it's the year of the pandemic, and there's a very nerve-wracking election fast approaching, and cutting back our plants signifies the usual. it signifies steadfastness. that despite every anxiety and tragedy and change, this one thing will be the same. and, i think, it shores up the sense that we are in control of this moment.

i would like everyone to trade that momentary sense of control for the boundless opportunity of observation. watchfulness. just watch who comes to visit when you leave your black-eyed susans to go to seed. does that worry you? are you worried about the billions of black-eyed susans that might take over your garden next year? well, why worry? after all, just like you, gardens change a bit every year (if you let them). and letting them is a gift—to the little creatures who live there, and to yourself.

because another thing missing from our lives right now is ease, and peace. for me, when i look out the window and see ten goldfinches bending hyssop stalks as they graze and flit and alight and rest, i do feel easier. i know i am continuing a tradition, too. a very old one.

so i hope you'll consider letting your garden rest easy this year. there are so many, many reasons why, but let this one, peaceful ease, be the first. and then in the spring, join me in cutting the overwintered stalks, and clearing away the remnants of last year's bounty, and we'll all watch as new growth emerges.

for now? we will rest.