Manna for the soil

Although the last of the golden beech leaves still cling stubbornly to the trees, despite the vicious southerly winds that have been lashing our little peninsula, most of the leaves are now down. Strewn across pathways, blown into hedgerows in big soggy drifts, and decorating lawns like amber confetti.

I sometimes think of this change of season as being like the Bible story where the “manna” falls from the sky to feed the fleeing Israelites. The story tells it as a divine miracle, but in truth it may have been a natural phenomenon caused by the pollen of the tamarisk tree. In certain weather conditions, the pollen would lift high into the air and fall to the ground again when temperatures dropped overnight. Before humankind could access the internet or libraries to explain such things, the simplest explanation was that God had heard their prayers of hunger.

Food falling from the sky at a time of great need — that is exactly what autumn is for our woodlands, hedgerows, gardens, and fields. Nitrogen-rich rain, coupled with carbon-rich leaves, is the perfect sustenance for the hungry plant life around us. After a dry summer, when our plants, trees, and shrubs endured stressful conditions — though it did bring about a “mast year” of abundant fruit, nuts, and seeds — the landscape is now exhausted, and hungry once more.

Working with gardens and nature, as anyone who does will tell you, brings a quiet gladness for the approaching winter months. It’s not only a time for us to rest after a busy growing season, but a chance for the garden to feed, recover, and gather strength for the year ahead. I used to think of winter as nature’s great dying — a stillness before spring’s rebirth — but now I see it as the long pause. Perhaps not so long here in Cornwall as in Scotland, but still a time of recovery and replenishment.

That doesn’t mean we need to close the doors to the potting shed, shut the garden gate, and take up a new hobby for four months. While everything above ground seems to sleep, the subterranean world is waking for a busy season.

I think of soil like a sourdough starter — remember that thing so many of us tried to make during lockdown? The one that was supposed to be simple, yet somehow refused to behave like it did in the videos? If you were lucky enough to get a little bacterial life going in that pot of flour and water, you’ll know what I mean.

Soil, as we know, is a mixture of clay, organic matter, grit, sand, stone — and an entire living world. By the end of this summer, the soil in Cornwall had baked hard as brick. Many of its tiny inhabitants either died or burrowed deep enough to survive in cooler layers. But now, with the return of regular rain and surprisingly warm soil temperatures for the time of year, that hidden world is coming back to life. Worms, nematodes, protozoa, larvae, mites, beetles, and bugs of every description — a teeming microcosm beneath our feet is stirring from its slumber and getting to work.

All these creatures help break down this “manna” from the heavens — the fallen leaves — transforming them from raw material into bioavailable nutrients that the trees will draw up when the sap starts to rise again in early spring.

The circle of life: the end of one life cycle in the leaf gives birth to a new one in the soil. That thought fills me with hope and quiet expectancy for the season ahead. On dark, dreary days when storms rattle the windows and rain lashes across the land, it’s a comforting reminder that nature is still very much alive.

Like the trees and gardens, I too will use this time to recoup my energy. I notice I sleep more at this time of year, and crave carbohydrate-rich foods — the roots and tubers that grow in the dark. I too am looking to the subterranean for sustenance.

There’s still plenty to be done outside — pruning, dividing perennials, moving plants, cutting new borders, turning compost heaps — but this is the season for slowing down to winter’s steady rhythm.

It won’t be long now, I tell myself. So enjoy this time. Don’t resent the rain or curse the darkness. Look at the camellias — their buds are forming already. Have you seen the tiny green tips of the snowdrops? It’s all just around the corner. Use the time wisely.