Bedtime Rituals In the Garden: Now I lay my Plants Down to Sleep

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Oct 1, 1999

I am a monster if I don't get my full nightly allotment of "beauty sleep." I shuffle around semi-conscious, not really awake but not asleep either. I get surly. I scowl. I mutter strings of four-word expletives that could make even the most macho Merchant Marine cringe and shudder.

I so resent being tired that I've been known to ignore my alarm clock (my third this year, since I've pounded the innards out of two for disturbing me). I'll pull the blankets over my head and return to dreamland, only to spring out of bed at the last possible moment then cut corners trying to make up for lost time. But the truth is that, like every human being, I need a period of rest. And I'll do whatever I can to get it, even if that means getting off to a late start.

Oh, I'll try to make up for my tardiness... I race through the house throwing on clothes willy-nilly (which is why I buy everything in varying shades of black, white and gray so I don't have to pause to color coordinate), break the sound barrier and speed limits on my way to the office, then work like a hyped-up hamster on a treadmill until I catch up. They still talk at the office about the time I showed up without stopping to apply makeup... apparently our group insurance does not cover my co-workers' psychological damages associated with such a sight. But by the end of the day, I'm doubly exhausted: trying to play catch-up is a tiring task.

So I was not surprised to learn that my garden's needs are no different. Every plant deserves a good sleep as a reward for its growing effort. In gardening, we call this the "dormant" period. Unlike a 'nap,' which connotes a lazy indulgence in unnecessary slumber, or 'sleep' which brings to mind a stage of torpor that can be squeezed between other important events, dormancy evokes a sense of sacred, non-negotiable inactivity during which everything but the act of resting must wait.

Last year, I did not honor this notion. I poured on the fertilizer in September, trying to eke out one more round of blooms from my roses. I sent Hubby outdoors, wrapped in a sweater, with instructions to water and mow the yard until it was buried in three feet of snow. I coaxed woody stems of garden phlox into blooming indoors, then scratched my head in consternation when I could not get a repeat bloom from them this spring. Thankfully, my garden was rather forgiving. Even though shorted on sleep, my plants gave me quite a few flowers throughout the growing season, but I wonder how much better they would have performed if I'd just let them rest a bit longer.

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