We feel it first in the air and the light. The days grow shorter, and the sun’s angle changes, casting a softer, golden light. The intense heat of summer fades, replaced by crisp, cool nights. This is our signal. It is not a signal of death, but of transformation. Our above-ground life, the glorious display of foliage and flowers that fed the pollinators, is nearing its end. Our energy, once directed upwards, must now turn downwards, deep into our core. We begin the vital work of pulling our essence back into our crown and roots, storing sustenance for the long sleep and the rebirth to come.
You may see our leaves begin to yellow, brown, and wither. Do not be alarmed; this is not a sign of distress but of intelligent retreat. We are deliberately reclaiming the last valuable nutrients from our foliage, drawing them back into our perennial parts. Please, resist the urge to cut us down too early. While we may look untidy to your eyes, every day our green leaves remain allows us to photosynthesize a little more, building up those crucial underground stores. Wait until a hard frost has truly blackened our foliage. At that point, we have completed our withdrawal, and you can safely trim our stems back to just a few inches above the soil line, protecting the precious crown nestled at our base.
Our greatest threat during winter is not the cold itself, but the cycle of freezing and thawing. This cycle can heave our crown—the heart from which all new growth emerges in spring—right out of the soil, exposing our tender core to killing temperatures and drying winds. This is where you can be our greatest ally. After the ground has frozen hard, please provide us with a loose, breathable blanket. A layer of shredded leaves, straw, or evergreen boughs is perfect. This mulch does not heat us; instead, it insulates us, keeping the soil temperature consistently cold and preventing those damaging heaves. It is our winter coat, our protection against the elements.
Beneath the frozen surface, we are not dead, but dormant. Our roots, fortified with the energy we stored, rest. On warmer winter days, they may even drink in a little moisture if the soil thaws. A gentle watering in late autumn, before the ground freezes, is a deeply appreciated drink that helps prevent desiccation. Then, we wait. We sleep through the snow and ice, patient and still, until we feel the sun’s warmth penetrate the earth once more. That warmth will be the signal to end our slumber, and the energy stored in our roots will push vibrant new life upwards, through the mulch, towards the spring sky, ready to greet you with our unique blossoms once again.
