By Crystal Trojek, Tillsonburg Horticultural Society 

This Dahlia

There was a dahlia who lived well in the arms of the good earth. Its heart beat strong as warm summer days arrived, it met dragonflies and hummingbirds who daily kissed its bright face and green buds, it drank raindrops no matter if they were few or many. It shone in the sunlight on dew drenched mornings, as the days began to shorten. The dahlia was not afraid, it lived gratefully through every joyous minute, and often sang during hot July days with sweet words that spoke eloquently of how beautiful garden life was. The dahlia leaned on bamboo stakes when the winds came strong, when the thunder caused the skies to shiver and the earth trembled. It stood firm when lightning struck the darkened sky and separated the clouds, the dahlia was not afraid as it knew all weather was temporal. A dahlia is wise.

Occasionally birds visited the dahlias, plucking insects from its table. Birds sat on the dahlia’s leafy benches, looking for ants crawling up its thick green stems, or lost earwigs who sometimes slept in dahlia faces. Bees slept on dahlia beds, but they were much more polite visitors. Sparrows often held group meetings, young and old were the sparrows who enjoyed the sunshine and cheerful company of a large dahlia umbrella to shield them from the hot sun or a sudden rainstorm.

Birds were a friendly group in all weathers, and quite sympathetic when the frost warnings began. The night hours grew longer, the time comes when the brightest of harvest moons becomes suspect. When the dahlia plants have donated their loveliness to the last flower show table, when their best green selves have been blackened by the hard frosts, I reluctantly unearth their brown mortal tubers from my garden. A short green stem is all that remains of their summer lives. I attach labels bearing their names to the thick brown tubers, I regret occasionally wounding one with my ambitious shovel.

Packing dahlias for the winter is not nearly so glorious as planting them in the latter days of spring. In autumn I wrap each earth christened one in old newspaper, carefully bury in wood shaving filled totes, carry them down to the fruit cellar. Time, dahlias are suspended in time by their responsible owners. Christmas decor pulled out into the room, dahlias have a particular storage corner, I have concurred with them that they can read old newspapers and reminisce with nearby jars of pickles and jams about the great summer days that were theirs. Christmas is closer to the door. I ask the dahlias for the gift of little green yellowish shoots striving to pierce that old newspaper, next May when I open their boxes once more, promise me this before I turn out the light and leave each one to your restful sleep.

It is just now a fine August morning, my garden awakes in the aftermath of of a recent plentiful and life giving rainfall. The roses are striding towards their second flush of blooms, the dahlias have heard someone comment they are fifty to one odds to outshine the roses. Not me, I do not doubt them, even if I find a Japanese beetle or an earwig has set up temporary housekeeping in a dahlia blossom. I’ve never yet seen a dahlia named, “Air B and B”, but then insects cannot read. I know the days are shorter, moments are not far off when bees will seek the warmth of a dahlia heart. Frost will slip down to my garden in the wee hours of a September morning. It will walk kindly to my dahlias, for they accept today without remorse. They had yesterday, and they lived it well.

In September I will imagine some of my dahlias may make the show benches at the fall fairs, or the design tables where I blend dahlias and imagination at the competitions where dahlias strike their unmistakable mark in autumn arrangements. While they still last, they speak of autumn as the best of thesigns of the fall gardening season. I purchase a few celebratory late summer friends, short mounds of bright garden chrysanthemums and asters, or a collection of mismatched pumpkins purchased from roadside stands. As the days shorten and the garden adapts, they shine.

I should mention I never owned a dahlia during years of gardening happiness. I trusted and took note of other’s opinions of dahlias: they are too much work. “They have to be dug up every fall, if the ground freezes they’ll be toast.” “You have to start them inside, I don’t have that much space.” Or, “you’ve got to plant them all out every year, just like an annual.” “They get tall, you have to stake them or they fall over, or go down in a thunderstorm.” “Earwigs ate all of mine.” “Mine rotted over the winter.” “I bought a few of them and some didn’t turn out to be the colour on the package.” That happens with tulips, but there, we still buy more. One day I realized the answer to the question of great autumn floral material is dahlias. Flipping plant catalogue pages stopped at the dahlia section. I loitered at the newly arrived late April dahlia tubers in the garden centres, about the earliest rainbow of colour on the shelves. Thousands of inspirational little flower seed packets dimmed quickly to insignificance compared to these dahlia pictures. I held the little bag of potting mix in my hand, there is a little sprout on a tuber, that must be a sign.

I took four new dahlias to the checkout counter this year, where I enjoy helping garden centre employees learn about gardening. I once again cheerfully admitted to the student cashier, “I’m not buying anymore dahlias, and that’s the biggest lie you’ll hear all day.” “This is a dahlia, and if you plant one you’ll stand in the late summer sunshine and whisper to its just opened self, “Yes, this is truly a dahlia. Where have you been all my life?” Right here, I am right here.

Crystal Trojek

August 2026

Next Meeting of the Tillsonburg Horticultural Society will be September 1. Our Speaker will be Paul Gellatly, “Daylilies and Their Care”. Join us at the Tillsonburg Senior Centre (45 Hardy St.) at 7:30 p.m.