August can make a garden look as though it is fading. The grass turns brown, flowers disappear and seed heads replace colour. But beneath the surface, something very different is happening. In this month's walk around my garden, I reflect on drought, deep roots, unexpected resilience, and the quiet wisdom of knowing what to hold on to and what to let go. From hibiscus and sunflowers to apple trees and squash, August reveals that not everything that looks dry is dying.
The garden and what grows, doesn’t, and seems like it doesn’t, is such a juicy metaphor for life.
Certain flowers are not necessarily dying, they are “choosing how to survive”. Yes! Just as some are leaving, some others are “stepping forward”. This made me think of the state of some of my friendships in this time in my life.
Growth and life and love are sometimes not visible, but there, often, nevertheless. And … where something leaves us, a space is opening up for something new, perhaps.
Thank you so much Gayle. I am so glad you liked it. I think in these pieces I am trying to show that there is a season for everything and you picked up on that so clearly. Thank you
“Not everything that looks dry is dying.” I love this. The apple tree letting go of some of its fruit so the rest can grow, the squash concentrating its energy, the roots reaching for water we can’t see — you let the garden make the argument without forcing the metaphor. Beautifully done.
Your August garden reads like a place that has stopped pretending.
July was, well ... but August, as you say, is decision.
I love the nightly ritual of carrying bathwater and dishwater out into the dusk ... the kind of devotion most people never see, but grandmother earth remembers. That’s soul‑work, not gardening.
You don’t just tend a garden.
You tend a philosophy.
The blackbirds and greenfinches, the collared doves, the newly hatched chicks ... a poem waiting to be written, all of them stitching their small lives through your branches and borders.
And every month, you let us walk through it with you.
What looks still is only gathering strength for its next move.
Even the moss knows how to hold you without asking.
What a beautiful reflection. It reminded me that God often does His deepest work beneath the surface, where no one else can see. There are seasons when we have to let some things go, not because we've failed, but because wisdom knows what to nourish and what to release. Just like your garden, our lives are often preparing for a harvest long before it becomes visible. Thank you for this gentle reminder that what appears dry may simply be growing deeper roots. There is so much truth, hope, and quiet grace in these words Thank you Natalie for the wisdom many blessings with grace as well my friend 🙏❤️🙏
Nat, this is gorgeous.
The garden and what grows, doesn’t, and seems like it doesn’t, is such a juicy metaphor for life.
Certain flowers are not necessarily dying, they are “choosing how to survive”. Yes! Just as some are leaving, some others are “stepping forward”. This made me think of the state of some of my friendships in this time in my life.
Growth and life and love are sometimes not visible, but there, often, nevertheless. And … where something leaves us, a space is opening up for something new, perhaps.
Thank you so much Gayle. I am so glad you liked it. I think in these pieces I am trying to show that there is a season for everything and you picked up on that so clearly. Thank you
You paint it and call it out so perfectly, and patiently.
“Not everything that looks dry is dying.” I love this. The apple tree letting go of some of its fruit so the rest can grow, the squash concentrating its energy, the roots reaching for water we can’t see — you let the garden make the argument without forcing the metaphor. Beautifully done.
thank you Mary. The more I watch nature, the more wisdom I see in it
Dear Nat,
Your August garden reads like a place that has stopped pretending.
July was, well ... but August, as you say, is decision.
I love the nightly ritual of carrying bathwater and dishwater out into the dusk ... the kind of devotion most people never see, but grandmother earth remembers. That’s soul‑work, not gardening.
You don’t just tend a garden.
You tend a philosophy.
The blackbirds and greenfinches, the collared doves, the newly hatched chicks ... a poem waiting to be written, all of them stitching their small lives through your branches and borders.
And every month, you let us walk through it with you.
What looks still is only gathering strength for its next move.
Even the moss knows how to hold you without asking.
Steve
I love your garden and your words.
What a beautiful reflection. It reminded me that God often does His deepest work beneath the surface, where no one else can see. There are seasons when we have to let some things go, not because we've failed, but because wisdom knows what to nourish and what to release. Just like your garden, our lives are often preparing for a harvest long before it becomes visible. Thank you for this gentle reminder that what appears dry may simply be growing deeper roots. There is so much truth, hope, and quiet grace in these words Thank you Natalie for the wisdom many blessings with grace as well my friend 🙏❤️🙏