August is a stampede. A riot. A flood. A stolen car out for a joyride. The subtlety in the first sweet blossoms of May has become drenched in sun, a cloak of green and a riot of color. It seemed to happen suddenly. Humming along steadily to becoming a runaway train. So many flowers in bloom, so many towering plants in the gardens to trim The weeds never stopped.
Ironically, this is the moment many of us gardeners dreamt of in mid-winter, while pouring over seed catalogs. But when it comes, it has a way of trampling you flat and dulling the senses. I am covered in dirt at day's end and the weariness sets in. We have been working lately in south facing sun, relentless in its afternoon heat. I start to feel like linen that has been worn too long. Rumply and dusty and I long to put on a sweater. Right about now I start dreaming of skiing. Presence wants to escape this discomfort. But doing so will forsake the beauty. More than anything else, I have always wanted to be present for everything that happens outdoors. All the fluttering of birds and changes in the wind. Cloud banks and falling leaves. I don’t want to miss any of it. So it’s disheartening to succumb to sweat and mosquitoes. Petty it seems when there’s so much to behold! How often do we wish in mid-winter for the glow of an August afternoon, the symphony of crickets offering perfect peace.
Fellow landscaper Ann takes a different approach. She doesn’t escape, She tries to sink in instead. While laboring under the difficult circumstances of August she slows down. Thinks of each task as pieces. Then moves onto the next. I do the same when running up a hill. I run each part of the hill until I reach the top. Simple.
I wash the dirt off and take a minute. I come back to the fleetingness because of the plants and the moments. The goldenrods glowing and offering nutrient rich pollen to foraging insects, the spires of liatris a shade of purple that's almost electric. The cheerful and charming heliopsis. And the dahlias! Well, they’re a wonderland. The blaze of strawflowers and drooping heads of Panicum offering a promise of autumn.
The rows of flowers towering over my head, sweet cosmos and Rudbeckia trilobum. I weave and bend to get through. The crickets chiming in late afternoon as I rush to get everything done in these shortening days. In a few months the patches of ground these ephemeral wonders of plant life occupy will be bare once again. The tall rows of magic will be gone. I will have my skiing. I try to savor this richness right alongside the sore wrists and aching muscles. This storm of plant life, crescendoing in August. Soon to become the bittersweetness of fall.
