I don’t have a lot of time.

It isn’t my feelings about autumn. I love the changing of the seasons, the long goodbye to summer that accompanies the arrival of fall. As warm days give way to chilly evenings, the maple trees in the neighborhood display gorgeous shades of orange and purple; the yellow leaves on the sycamores stand out against the deep green shadows of the evergreens.

Like me, the perennials in my garden are also accustomed to the change.

The hydrangeas that were bright blue all summer first turned antique pink and are now a powerful, powdery purple. The rose bushes, thyme, and catmint are no longer reaching outward with the enthusiasm they displayed all summer. As the days wane, they are pulling back and slowing down; they are aware that it’s time to prepare for that long winter sleep.

While the rest of the garden is settling down for winter, my marigolds and impatiens are still soaking up the sunshine, producing new leaves and buds as though summer has only just begun. Unaware of the merciless cold that will soon descend upon them and, like an executioner, cut them down in one fell swoop, the annuals’ cheerful blooms are multiplying.

They Have No Idea

These did great all season: asking for nothing and filling the grow box with bright color. They tolerated the heat. They worked around my occasional neglect, and now, as they reward me with their best, their happiest and healthiest displays, the temperatures are dipping. The bright pink blooms spilling over the edges are deaf to the whisper of winter that carries the promise of their demise.

I don’t have a lot of time.

I watched my petunias meet a particularly gruesome end last year. Their tender green stems stretched outward at the end of summer, sent out new shoots, and unfurled fresh blooms. Then, a week later, the flowers shriveled up and the stems shrank. In a matter of days, what was green and lush became miserable piles of lifeless vegetation.

It was horrible.

The forecast is now calling for temperatures in the thirties, and I don’t have a plan. These impatiens are at the height of their beauty and about to perish, and I don’t have the means to save them. I haven’t cleared out a spot inside the house where they’d get light. I don’t have the right size planters; I haven’t learned how to move them, and I’m desperate to fight against the travesty that is pending.

First Things First

Like a nurse conducting triage, I’ve identified the plants that will survive without any intervention on my behalf, those that might survive with immediate support, and those that, sadly, are beyond my ability to save. The perennials are clearly in the first category. My roses, catmint, thyme, hydrangeas, and daisies have survived winter before. They understand what they need to do, and they are prepared to fend for themselves.

The marigolds, however, cannot handle winter; I don’t have grow lights for them inside. If I were to dig them up, clean them off, re-pot them, and set them near a south-facing window, they would still likely perish. Simply put, they need more light than my indoor conditions can provide.

These orange flowers look lovely on my front porch, appropriately placed beside the black Halloween decoration, which appears to be forecasting their inevitable doom. For now, I’m doing what I can to make their remaining days comfortable. They are getting plenty of sunshine. I’m bringing them fresh water. As an expression of sympathy, I have hatched a plan to save their seeds.

The Rescue Mission

Unlike the marigolds, the impatiens have a chance of surviving. With enough indoor light, suitable temperatures, and a little luck, they might even continue blooming throughout the winter. If there is a chance that I can save these plants, I’m willing to try, but the fact is that I don’t have a lot of time.

I’ve identified two south-facing windows where they’ll receive light. I’ve cleared a desk in one room and arranged a bench in another. I’ve measured the available space and ordered two large planters and materials for a drainage system. The tracking information for the order, unfortunately, has not yet provided me with a delivery time.

The temperature drops tonight.

If the Amazon delivery arrives this morning, I can replant them beforehand, but I don’t think it will. The status has not quite reached “out for delivery” and the order does not display a time. At four o’clock, I’m heading out to dinner with my family. So, the supplies needed for their survival are right now sitting somewhere between an Amazon warehouse – and my front porch.

The garden is carrying on as though nothing is wrong.

The roses are slowing down. The hydrangeas are settling into their autumn colors. The catmint and thyme seem content to retreat for the winter, and the impatiens are still putting on a show. More blossoms. More glossy leaves. More bright pink flowers cascading over the edges of the grow boxes.

They’ve never looked better.

It’s heartbreaking.

I’ve done everything I can think of to prepare for their rescue. The spaces by the windows are ready. The supplies have been ordered, and yet, here I am, watching the weather report. It doesn’t look good. They’re predicting a drop to thirty degrees, and the impatiens have just produced another dozen blooms.

They have absolutely no idea.

I don’t have a lot of time.

Will the impatiens make it to safety before the cold sets in, or will they meet the same tragic fate as last year’s petunias? I’m hoping for a happy ending, but right now, it’s anyone’s guess. Subscribe to Anchored & Aimless to follow the rescue mission and find out whether these innocent little lives survive their first encounter with winter.

Related garden reading: The Beauty of Red and Purple: 4 Garden Design Principles