As a person who has done some gardening and spent some hot days in a field, I have come to love and deeply appreciate dormancy. Trees shed their leaves, the last of the harvesting ends, and nature agrees that it is time for a break. Dormancy and the shortening daylengths of fall invite us to reflect on our efforts in the garden, what we successfully cultivated, and what work to prioritize for the spring. 

This past year we began offering a twice-weekly gardening group called the “Dirt Crew” to welcome shelter residents of all ages to explore the spring and summer gardens, to assist with the maintenance, and especially to harvest some of the good stuff coming out of our growing spaces.    

Our harvesting efforts initially focused on the mulberry tree near the garden, and eventually the spinach, radishes, carrots, kale, raspberries, tomatoes, sweet peppers, basil, and sweet potatoes. The Dirt Crew was different from our farm stipend program in the sense that all residents (and staff) were welcome, but that there was no financial incentive to participate.  

The goals were to plant, taste, touch, smell, and experience nature in a new way. These goals encouraged playfulness, curiosity, and delight. And in a lot of ways, we achieved these goals. Families and individuals did come out to join us in the work and often reflected on other gardens they had visited or helped in previously.  

Another happy outcome was that each week from early June until mid-November, some part of our harvest ended up in a meal prepared by and/or served to residents. Our tomatoes, peppers, and sweet potatoes were roasted and added to sauces or soups. Our berries were frozen for smoothies. It was a significant harvest, and a hyper-local farm-to-fork adventure.  

While a bountiful garden cannot come to be without significant planning, some of the sweetest moments in the garden this year were unplanned and unexpected. I remember one morning when hummingbirds buzzed overhead trying to settle a turf disagreement. On another morning, we discovered more than one monarch butterfly chrysalis on the dill plants, their stunning gold dots highlighting the bright spring green pods.  

All of this feels like ages ago. I am writing this on a day when a light dusting of snow is falling, a December day that will not be our darkest or our coldest. But recalling the summer past helps me plan for a new year of mulched rows and happy plants ready to welcome residents who are seeking a peaceful, healing space. A garden, even in dormancy, or maybe especially in dormancy, reminds us that we can always begin again.