My summer 2011 garden is officially over.

The first freeze of this winter arrived last night, capping off a day that started with snow (!) This morning the garden is black and wilted and the only thing left to do is rip out the plants, dump compost and straw on the beds to enrich the soil during winter, and retire to the house. For a long, long time.

This summer passed the fastest of any in my life, and in many ways I feel I missed my favorite season this year. Although a part of me is ready for a break from the work of the garden, I am sad to see it go. Summer is my best time because I feel healthiest when I am outside a lot, working in the dirt and sun, sweating and nurturing young plants and taking my food right from my land to my kitchen.

I view the approaching winter with trepidation. I hate waking up in the dark. I hate driving home from work in the dark. I work in a windowless office so in the winter I only see the sun for a few minutes each day. Which, for someone who needs light, is a form of torture.

I am trying to get excited about a winter of resting and reading by the wood stove—bribing myself with new books and lofty self-enriching goal setting—but I know the next several months will be a challenge that’s even greater than the physical one I put myself through during the growing season.

Summer 2011, I barely knew ye.