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Recently I found another frog statue in my garden. I suppose I probably put it there once, but finding it really helped me feel better about having to take out some trees. I had been feeling slightly bad about that even though I had waited until they were in full winter dormancy and also bade them goodbye and thanked them and let them go, like I would do for any thing, living or not, that I felt had some sort of spirit and which was dead or broken or otherwise had to go.

I would not have found it if everything had gone exactly to plan. A Keystone Cops level of incompetence by a series of 4 different companies led me to be the one that had the spade in my hand that day. It was meant to be; I was meant to find it, for my personal reassurance from the spirit of the land.

On sunny afternoons a mild breeze whispers a faint reminder of summer, but the leaves are changing color and nighttime is coming earlier. As the darkness grows and the season changes, it’s almost time to tuck your garden in for the winter—a mundane and sacred act. 
      When frost starts nipping at your plants, cut back perennials that require it in the autumn, remove annuals, and turn over the soil where they grew. Set aside one small branch for ritual. Also, plant any flower bulbs or garlic for the spring. As you do this, honor Mother Earth. Think of how your garden looked in the summer and thank her for the bounty and beauty she provided. Use a stick to draw runes, ogham, or other symbols in the soil or simply write a message such as “thank you” or “blessed be.” Also thank all the creatures that may have called your garden home such as toads, salamanders, snakes, and spiders, as well as birds. Also thank the pollinators that visited, and don’t forget faeries, elves, and other magical beings.
      Autumn leaves are timed perfectly for use as a protective winter mulch around the base of biennials and perennials. Mulching will also prevent erosion from rain and snow melt. Include a few crystals, seashells, or rocks that you collected over the summer amongst the plants as you tuck them in. 
      When all is finished, walk through the garden and speak the name of each plant. Take a bowl of fresh spring water and using the branch you set aside, dip it into the water and then sprinkle it around the garden as you say:

“With rain and sun this garden was blessed,
And now it’s time for slumber and rest.
I bid you fond farewell until the spring,
And dream of the beauty you will once more bring.
As above, so below,
May this garden forever grow.”

All gifts from the gnome are precious, but there is something very special about being given a second chance at a gift that I didn't manage to keep going the first time. (As long time readers of this blog may know, I call the land wight of my land the gnome because that's what he wants to be called. A few years ago I blogged about being given mimosa tree seedlings by the gnome, to my delight.)

I love the mimosa tree which I grew from seed. It shades the south side of the house. It's blooming right now and it smells wonderful. A few years ago it made some seedlings which I tried my best to carefully nurture, hand watering them, and periodically cutting the chives and parsley that kept growing close enough to shade them or block the sprinkler or just generally overwhelm the tiny little trunks.

Some aspects of Minoan civilization feel very modern: big cities with paved roads, aqueducts, and enclosed sewer systems. But there were no supermarkets back in the Bronze Age, no international shipping of out-of-season produce.

I've written before about Minoan cooking methods and typical foods. I've even shared a grocery list of sorts, a compilation of all the foods we have evidence for - foods the Minoans cooked and ate.

A few weeks back, I asked my friends and readers: Should I put the little terracotta Garden Goddess out:

1. when I till, or
2. when I plant, and
3. why?

Interest in the question has been keen, and discussion lively: my thanks to everyone who took the time to consider, and to reply.

So let me tell you what I ended up doing, and why I so chose. Here's a teaser: the Great Pagan Sin.

Help! I need an answer to a theological question, and I need it quick.

As I write this, the little terracotta goddess lies sleeping, wrapped in silk, on a shelf in the pantry.

But soon she'll be standing out in the corner of the garden, plunged to her thighs in the ground. Through the summer to come—night and day, rain and shine—she will watch over the growth of this year's tomatoes, eggplants, cucumbers, squash, beans, herbs, and greens.

So here's the question. Does the Garden Goddess go into the ground:

1. when I till, or
2. when I plant, and
3. why?

The first day of summer is tomorrow, and I for one, am imagining lush green plants and foliage. What better way to honor Midsummer than with a Litha garden? Even if you live in an urban setting, you can get adventurous with the right size pots for roots, some potting soil, and cages for the vines to grow correctly.

When thinking of sun colors, I would definitely plant some tomatoes. If you’re in the Midwest, you should still be able to enjoy the fruits of your labor come August, and now there are so many varieties to choose from. Pretty multi-colored heirlooms, lush romas, or the ever versatile and easy-to-grow cherries are all good options. Likewise, some nice orange or red bell peppers would do well planted now. The tomatoes are the ones that need extra room for roots and wire cages to help the vines grow properly up top. For an inexpensive potting option, purchase some large plastic bins from a hardware store like Menards and drill holes in a circle along the bottom. Fill with nutrient rich plant soil and be sure to secure the roots of your tomato plants deep within it. Watering is of the utmost importance, and if you don’t live in a naturally rainy climate, you really need to keep up with this every day. A good amount is needed to truly keep the soil moist for a healthy, thriving plant.