By Crystal Trojek, Tillsonburg Horticultural Society 

Leaves

Autumn steps quietly into the garden, when the leaves start to turn colour and all of us begin contemplating how many mornings there could be from today before we stare through the window at first light and discover a frosty world. A frozen froth, instead of a peaceful dew washed triple fog dipped sunrise. Leaves, it will be the time of year when leaves dominate the garden. Relentless in their mission, leaves will return to the earth no matter how warm the sunny autumn days. Their light grows dim with each passing hour, they know it. Each leaf yields the threads of its fine green coat to orange, gold, or crimson blood, for a few days the leaves shine brightly before falling to the earth, returning to its maker without protest. A leaf, it’s just a leaf.

It’s common now to see almost straight rows of stocky brown paper bag families lining the street curbs, stuffed with leaf corpses, some of which are employed to camouflage a few old branches, trimmings, and finished annuals. The composter is just not large enough for all the garden debris this time of year, creative dispensation of current garden waste is necessary. Compostable paper bags, they say. In the small town where I grew up leaves were after school and weekend play. Jumping and rolling and lying in them, I can still remember that curious sweet death scent that summer was over. Leaves suddenly found themselves living a different life, overnight they were transformed into bright oranges, flaming reds, and gold blood flowing through their leafy veins. The softness of them when they first fell, the different shapes, the way a leaf family occasionally leapt from a tree overnight at the same time, a leaf carpet glowing under the naked branches of a neighbourhood tree passed on the way to school. (I never met a kid who came to school on the bus until I was a teenager, everyone walked). 

Leaves in your hat, hair, the special ones, leaves in your books, leaves in your shoes. Leaf bouquets. I’m old enough now to hear the echo of my mother’s voice telling me, “there’s bits of leaves in your hair, and stuck to your socks.” Leaves were scarecrow stuffing, lined paths for a game of tag, piles to hide in, wooly bear caterpillars might be found sleeping in curled leafy hands, they rested deep and thoughtful and quiet in all sorts of places. Leaves slept obediently, on frosted mornings when they were painted white, over and over again. Leaves shivered on cool nights as campfire smoke sought them in the deepening twilight, they waited in the dark for the rising moon, wished on stars.

Leaves sometimes went to school, special leaves. The school assignment of creating leaf collections was always exciting, pressed between two sheets of wax paper, iron, trim, and paste into a little book of paper sheets. They must be named, the library was wise. We learned about Canadian leaves, the forest, wrote poems and stories about leaves, carefully printed with fat red pencils and then cursive lines with newly distributed pens. We memorized leaf poems, took home little books of leaf stories and proudly shared them with our parents. Leaves had something to say, something worth knowing. Today’s searchers google strange leaves on their phones, tis a pity. Leaves have so much to say, even my dogs know that. Autumn walks include the exploration of leaves, ingestion of leaves, decorating themselves with leaves. Dogs wear leaves home like they mean it. They’re not wrong.

Sandwiched between the bluest of skies and the cooling earth, the autumn landscape is a living fire, but just for a time. These are days when one notices the quietness of the season, time passes in a garden world teeming with silence. I pause in a favourite garden chair with a hot cuppa, in between the digging, sorting, labelling, and storing of dahlias. Prying dahlia tubers from the reluctant earth, packing in pine shavings, stacking the totes in the fruit cellar is a solemn anffair. Numerous jars of pickles, jams and such will keep dahlias company in their solitude. Spiders not welcome, I whisper in the dark. I turn off the light, close the door and remember the orioles always come back to the garden as do the dahlias.

Many birds have returned south, insects have found a new place in the garden world, bees have their hives. A few months ago the spring air was fretfully churned with sounds of returning birds, winter will soon come calling. I often sit in the back garden and listen to the sound of a few leaves falling, a soft trickle as unsettled air nudges them from faltering branches, or a small band of chilled raindrops drags leaves to the earth, neatly quilting them in place. I must go inside shortly, I have a collection of bags and boxes of floral material waiting for me. Milkweed pods set in the garage to finish drying in the house. Beautiful pine cones, who knew there were so many? Free ones, purchased ones at thrift stores, lovely cones born in other climes.

Acorns, chestnuts, hickory nuts, seeds bedded down with comforting leaves, all the priceless gifts of autumn. Lost broken branches and bark pieces, friends to the inevitable imagination of Christmas decorators and designers. Sustainable decor at its finest, and a long time trend in European design, use it for the season and compost. I still wax a few leaves with an old iron, I now experiment with glycerine preserved leaves. Soft and pliable, truest depth of colour, sorted in labelled cardboard boxes. Retrieve the dehydrators from the darkness of the spare room closet, I need many trays of dried oranges very soon. The season of autumn, inspiring our time in the kitchen with the recipes of fall: stews, home made soups and biscuits, canned preserves, baked beans, squash, pies, and visits to fall fairs. Leaves make the trip memorable, they wait in the garden not with sadness, but celebration.

– Crystal Trojek, October 2026

When: Next Meeting November 3, 2026 

Guest Speaker. Jason Overdevest, Nanticoke Nursery ” Horticultural Pruning Techniques of Hydrangea Shrubs.”

Time: 7:30pm Tillsonburg Horticultural Society Meeting

Where: Seniors Centre ~ Tillsonburg Community Centre (Entrance with green awning)