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Each end is always a beginning, because nothing ever ends totally, nothing can ever end. Everything continues, only forms change.

~Osho

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Dear Reader,

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Today marks the third anniversary of our arrival in Keene, a period in time that challenged me to grow in the most unexpected ways. Arriving at dusk on the 29th of November, with an ice storm brewing, we carried our bags into a cold, empty, kitchenless house. Quite unaware that I had stepped into a fast-track school on how real dreams unfold, this was far from the Disney movie scene that I had imagined.

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This real-life dream would be filled with challenges, pitfalls, and heartbreak, along with an education in life far richer than I could have imagined. The greatest lesson of all has come from living and learning to embrace a seasonal life, and just when I think I've grasped it all, a new assignment appeared.

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This anniversary and the near-completion of the third growing season coincided with what seemed to be a rehearsal week for winter. Practicing all of her key roles before the real show begins on 21 December, she has graced us with a soft blanket of white fluffy snowflakes, biting winds, sleeting rain, deep frosts, and weighty blankets of dense fog. As the scenes played out, I struggled with reluctance to take on the season's final task. Strewn about the screen porch in their on-again off off-again use, the gardening tools and supplies were in great need of attention. A day dedicated to cleaning and organizing would be greatly appreciated come spring. Stepping onto the screen porch would mean quite a bit of bundling and enduring the elements, even to begin establishing some order in the chaos. Each morning, I would find myself envisioning the task and the satisfaction that would come with its completion, only for the weather to convince me otherwise.

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Midweek, however, winter took a day off, and temperatures soared to 55°F (12 °C). Knowing an opportunity like this may not come again before March, I rallied my enthusiasm. I paced a bit at first, a tea mug warming my gloved hands, trying to establish a system for the first chore of sorting. Clearing some table space, I began by creating piles. First to gather were the assortment of clippers, then gloves, partnered and otherwise, spools of string and jute made their way into a bin next to another of metal staples, all in various sizes. The amendments were lined along a bottom shelf, clear of blowing snow; axes were placed by the kindling box; and cover crop seeds were sealed and labeled in buckets.

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Moving mindfully through the various tasks, I became aware of a warming sense of contentment. Enjoying it as it lingered, I realized the chore I had put off was one of both completion and preparation. Both are integral parts of living seasonally. Putting closure to seasons in our life can be sticky and fraught with emotions, clinging to what was or suppressing the threads of grief. Until now, I’ve not done well with these transitory periods, preferring to duck and cover until they are over or leaping ahead to what is next. But here I was, saying goodbye to the tools that had served me well, mending and caring for their needs so they would be ready when spring rolled around. I was completing the cycle and discovering the hidden joy in the task. Both practical and symbolic, the work was completed just in the nick of time, as 1 December marks the start of ordering for the 2026 season.

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Looping through the garden to collect any tools left behind, I spotted visual examples of the continuum of endings and beginnings among my perennial herbs. While the upright aerial parts were in various states of decay, just along the soil's surface, a carpet of new growth had spread. This was true with the lemon balm, mints, and oregano, but a short walk in any direction offered up countless examples. Have a look around your garden and see if you can see this for yourself.

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Until next week,

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Ready to Ship!

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Sun Transits November 27-December 7

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Sagittarius Season

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Copyright @2025 Gemmos with Lauren Hubele
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