Thank you, grounds crew, for raking the leaves all over campus and bagging them for us gardeners. Last Sunday, I dragged about ten bags of maple, elm, ash, and other leaves to the campus MULCH garden and spread them over all the exposed soil, laying down a good layer of bedding for the winter. I was performing what is really the last act of the season, acknowledging that it is finally winter. For both the garden and me, it was the last day of the year and it was goodbye.

For several weeks now, I have been in the process of pulling up plants that have been tended to since early spring. It feels good for the cycle to be complete. When I started in spring I had no idea what I was doing: I remember transplanting tiny seedlings in unusually cold May mornings, struggling to believe that the two-inch tall plants could possibly grow to produce fruit. Early on, I spent hours cutting down dandelions, so preoccupied with planting and weeding that I forgot to harvest the first crop of lettuce until it had over-ripened and turned too bitter to eat. But the garden flourished over the summer; and though it bred its fair share of mosquitoes, it repaid my inexperience with generosity.

Why are so many of us drawn to gardening? On a political level, growing your own food remains one of the most creative, enlivening acts of resistance that can be experienced. The power of the modern industrial state is asserted primarily through centralized control over food and energy, two fundamental aspects of human survival. To grow your own food and more importantly, to grow food for and with others, recreates the possibilities of freedom that reside in each of us. It reconnects us not merely to our humanity but also to the joy of being alive.

Urban gardening is also about creating community through coming together to grow good food and working to unite people that still believe in getting dirty, in getting their hands covered in mud in the hope of harvesting a fresh carrot a few months down the line. I can imagine few better ways to contribute to Macalester than to work on the actual land of the campus to grow something that can then be returned to the community.

All summer long, neighbors with their dogs or kids passed us and told us they enjoyed watching the garden grow. We replied that the tomatoes were there for them to eat, too. The MULCH garden is a true community space: it is not just a place to work, but a place to start thoughts and conversations on sustainable agriculture, to work on building healthy communities at the grassroots level and simply a space to relax and enjoy the surroundings.

I learned what I was doing over the course of the season, as plants grew tall, bore their promised vegetables and then withered at first frost. Now that it is over, I have experienced the cycle of planting, growth and harvest, a cycle that moves in parallel with one of faith, love and ultimately of loss. Winter stirs up feelings of dread and resentment in all of us, but this weekend, I felt a renewed sense of completion and wholeness when I looked across the finished garden, quiet under its bed of leaves. The Cree say that life is continuous rebirth; the labor of our love will return time and time again, just as the leaves will decompose into soil and the things that we give to this world will reverberate long after we are gone.

I want to thank every person that lent his or her hands and hearts to the creation of the life of the garden this season, whether your commitment was large or small, administrative or muscular, for helping to make it possible. It was a good year for MULCH: we had a steady base of summer volunteers, added several new beds, pathways and trellises, sent about 20 people directly onto the land for fall break and grew enough food and herbs to sell and give away to faculty, students, staff and neighbors. For those who did not have a chance to get involved, please join us in the spring, when we will need your help planting the seeds that will allow the cycle of growth to begin in the garden again. The more people who nourish the garden, the more we can use the garden to nourish our community.

On Sunday, the sun came out early in the morning, clouds swiftly rolled in and by 9 a.m. it was getting dark again. I think it was a good day to lay the winter blanket down. Though the year will be missed, I know it has been turned underground, buried with leaves and will be ready to give to the spring when the ground thaws. It is a year that will be followed by another, that will be met by new hands to care for old soil. Now, it is time to move past saying farewell to summer and autumn and on to the next challenge, that of welcoming winter with open arms.