It almost looks like we could ride this heat wave straight into fall. The Tupelo (Nyssa sylvatica) have been dropping bright red tokens since mid-July; the scent of ripe grapes hovers on whatever little breeze we can catch; the autumn crocus (Colchicum autumnale) are emerging from the ivy (a good 2 weeks earlier than last year); the dreaded schoolbus yellow is not only present in the gardens (black and brown-eyed Susans have been blooming since mid-July) but is suddenly on our roads too. While part of me is crying uncle! because of this summer’s relentless heat, the other part of me is nowhere near ready to let go. It can’t possibly already be September, can it?

Despite the fact that we’ve actually had an extra long and hot summer season, it still feels to me as if it only just started. In one way, that’s a little bit true. The gardens here – especially the Display Garden – are reaching their peak now. And barring some sort of natural disaster (Earl, step away from the gardens!) or the early frost that I’ve been pessimistically predicting since the daffodils came early, summer will be stunning for quite a while yet.

But first we’ve got to ride the wave. Gail and I are trying to get as much deadheading and weeding done in the gardens as we can first thing in the morning before copious sweat makes the sunglasses slide off our noses (we’ve given the volunteers a reprieve this week). And we’re keeping a weather eye on Hurricane Earl and family. Forecasters keep saying we’re in for it this year but we’ve got all fingers and toes crossed. – If that doesn’t work to fend off a hurricane, I don’t know what will.

Meanwhile, this is the best time for Gail and me to look over the gardens and make our annual assessments. We’ve grown plenty of plants worthy of rave reviews, put together a few winning combinations, and had our share of head-scratcher disappointments. All of which need to be documented (stay tuned). And of course we’re already kicking around ideas for next year’s gardens…

Have you started taking notes about this season (and next) – or have you been keeping track all along? Have you let go of summer?

I think I probably speak for most gardeners in four-season climates when I say we don’t really mind if our first, second and even third favorite season lingers a bit longer than usual. It gives us a chance to remember to revel in the change and pace ourselves as we complete the season’s tasks. I also think a late start to the next season makes us all the more ready for it and I would go so far as to say that a late start might bump the coming season up in my estimation – even if my least favorite season is up next. (Generally speaking, the season I’m in is always my current personal favorite but Gail might tell you I shiver more and complain of cold hands during the winter.)

As we head full-steam into late November I’m thrilled over the idea of Thanksgiving roses but I’m also starting to feel a little disconnected from the calendar. It doesn’t quite jive that there are dahlias still blooming outside and Christmas decorations up already inside. (The mansion is very nearly fully decked out for the holidays – the garden volunteers trimmed the big tree yesterday!) But I suppose that kind of juxtaposition isn’t at all weird for gardeners with a longer growing season. Do you – or would you – prefer colorfully blooming summer-like winter holidays?

In honor of Garden Bloggers Bloom Day, better late than never, here are some of Blithewold’s better-late blooms. Although frosts have been only patchy so far, I think we’ll go back to the calendar today and finish putting the dahlias to bed. As sweet as a lingering fall is, it’s time for us to get inside.

Whoever says that gardening is a completely stress-free (a)vocation must never plant anything let alone those plants that come with their own set of instructions. Like dahlias. For starters, dahlias are generally sold as tubers that resemble nothing more inspiring than a dead mouse. You have to take it on faith and cross your fingers that if you put that bit of brown pith in the ground (at a very certain depth and heaven forbid you water it in) that it will grow into a plant with, in some cases, dinner-plate sized flowers. Dahlia growth itself inspires panic particularly if you’re like me and have ever forgotten to stake them before a windstorm. And then there’s the anxiety of overwintering them. I’m still debating how to store the tubers this winter and am preemptively worried that they won’t survive.

The Rules for dahlia winter storage are as follows: Allow them to be hit by a frost and then leave them in the ground for a few days before digging them, drying them, cleaning them, dusting them/dipping them in fungicide, packing them in vermiculite/peat moss/sawdust and placing them in a dark vault with consistent humidity and a constant temperature in the neighborhood of 40 degrees Fahrenheit. We play fast and loose with those rules and I have to say that aside from one sad year when most of our tubers rotted moments before we planted them in June, we’ve had a pretty decent survival rate (knock wood).

We can’t always wait for a frost and even when we do, we can’t always wait those few days before digging them up. Why do we have to wait? The only reason I could find for that rule is that the frost triggers the tuber to build a thicker skin more resistant to moisture loss. That does make a certain sense if it’s true but like I said, we’ve had success with digging up pre-frost too. We also never use fungicide and usually keep them in boxes or paper bags (in sawdust and out) in the damp, furnace-warm cellar.

It seems to me, based on our experience, that some dahlias are simply sturdier and more likely to survive winter storage than others. I can almost tell as I dig them which ones we’ll have to reorder. Some plants make a hearty bundle of baby-fat tubers while others make you wonder how a giant plant survived and even thrived on such tiny feet. In the end (the fall), it all comes down to another winter’s experiment. We’ve had to dig the dahlias out of the North Garden to make way for tulips and we’ll leave others in as long as possible and maybe we’ll see if the timing makes a difference in survival rates.

Our other dahlia experiment this year was buying cuttings from Corralitos Gardens. Gail and I give them big green thumbs-up. It’s hard to believe that something so tiny and fragile could grow in one short season into a full-sized plant with hundreds of blossoms from an early start to finish along with a full set of tubers for me to stress over now. Every plant we ordered was as perfect and true as the catalog picture and every one knocked our socks off.

I’d like to think that dahlias aren’t as tricky as they’re made out to be. Do you grow dahlias and save them from year to year? Do you follow The Rules? Have you ever bought them as cuttings?