From our perspective as Begonias, the first sign of the great change is not the cold, but the light. We feel the days growing shorter, the sun's arc across the sky becoming lower and more brief. This diminishing photoperiod is the primary signal that whispers through our cellular structure, telling us it is time to prepare. Our internal biological clock, attuned to these subtle shifts, begins to initiate a profound metabolic slowdown. It is not a decision, but a deep, ancient response. We start to pull our energy back, like a turtle retracting into its shell. The vibrant work of photosynthesis, which fueled our lush growth all summer, begins to wind down. This is the true beginning of our dormancy, a quiet internal process that starts long before the first frost kisses our leaves.
As the signal strengthens, we embark on a critical mission of conservation. The energy we have stored in our leaves and stems is precious; we cannot leave it out in the cold to be wasted. You may see our leaves beginning to yellow, droop, or even appear to die back. Do not be alarmed. This is a deliberate and careful process. We are breaking down chlorophyll and other complex compounds, pulling valuable nutrients and sugars back into our core—into our tubers, rhizomes, or thickened root systems. This stored life force is our sustenance for the coming months and the foundation of our rebirth in spring. The parts above the soil are becoming sacrificial, their purpose served. We are concentrating our very essence into a compact, protected form underground.
This is the stage you, the caretaker, are most likely to notice, and it can understandably cause concern. From your view, we may look sickly or dead. Our stems may become brittle and dry. Our beautiful, often ornate, leaves will likely drop entirely or wither to a crisp. It is crucial to understand that this is not a failure or a disease; it is the visible manifestation of our deep sleep. Our metabolic rate has dropped to almost negligible levels. We are not growing. We are not producing new leaves. We are barely breathing. Our entire being is in a state of suspended animation, a survival strategy perfected over eons to withstand a season that is hostile to active growth. We are not gone; we are waiting.
While the world above the soil is cold and barren, the real story is happening out of sight. Deep within the soil, our heart is still beating, albeit slowly. For tuberous Begonias, the tuber is a vault of potential energy. For rhizomatous Begonias, the thick, creeping stem holds the blueprint for new life. Within these specialized organs, a tiny, central core of cells remains alive and protected. This meristematic tissue is the command center for our future growth. It is dormant but vital, shielded from freezing and desiccation by the surrounding mass of the storage organ and the insulating blanket of the soil. All our energy, all our genetic memory, is held safe here, waiting for the next environmental cue to break the spell.
To navigate this dormant period successfully, our needs change dramatically. We require a cool environment, typically between 45-55°F (7-13°C). This chill is essential for maintaining our dormancy without causing damage from freezing. Our need for water becomes almost zero. The soil around our resting body should be kept barely moist, perhaps with a light watering once a month, just enough to prevent our storage organs from completely desiccating and shriveling. Our relationship with light also shifts; we no longer need bright sun for photosynthesis, but a dark location helps reinforce the signal to remain dormant. In this state of quiet preservation, we wait, our internal clock ticking slowly towards the promise of longer, warmer days.
