In a world where so many of us feel like Lewis Carroll’s Alice falling down the rabbit hole—”We’re all mad here”—I’ve been thinking about the life lessons or “life lessons” that our gardens and allotments share with us.

Patience is of course one of them. A tree does not grow to maturity in a week, a seed does not germinate in a second, and winter will not suddenly give way to summer, no matter how much we wish it otherwise. There’s no fast-forward or “skip” button, no way to speed up the process, forcing us to “live in the moment” even when sometimes we’d really rather not.

Acceptance is another. To garden is to slowly but surely learn that even the most carefully hatched plans can be upended by any number of weather events, pests and diseases, as well as all the 1,001 challenges that life throws at us from work deadlines and family obligations to unexpected illness. Life, we discover, sometimes gets in the way. Things are not always what they seem or what they should be, from the perfect variety of faded pink dahlias that turned out to be sour yellow to the precious batch of plants that were devoured by slugs as a tasty snack or the neatly trimmed lawn that was disturbed. of hungry badgers in search of food. Such “failures,” part of being a gardener, set us on the path to accepting that we are never fully masters of our destiny, no matter how much we’d like to think we are.

In much the same way, we see through our gardens and allotments the value of having a live-and-let-live attitude. That we are all part of the great web of life, that every being matters. This in turn feeds what the American naturalist Dr Edward Wilson described as ‘biophilia’, or a love of life in all its forms, an innate inclination hard-wired into all of us to seek a deep connection with nature.

Which brings us to resilience. To garden for any length of time is to inevitably witness resilience, whether it’s a line of newborn seedlings pushing through damp, cold soil or a butterfly taking to the wing after a summer downpour. When Storm Aisling played across the country last month, I watched in awe as the garden hunkered down and somehow took it easy. The next day the dahlias continued to bloom as if nothing had happened, the birds to sing, the bees to hum. “Life goes on” was the message, despite the obstacles thrown their way.

Resilience goes hand in hand with perseverance, another quality that all good gardeners have in common and one that brings as much success in the flower border or kitchen garden as in life in general. “Try, try and try again” is a motto to live by for good reason.

So is the concept of carpe diem, or seize the day, without which our gardens – and our lives – would be so much poorer. Just think about it. Every tree, every bush, every hedge planted in the country’s gardens and allotments was put there by someone who decided they had had enough of procrastination. Each is a living testament to seizing the day. Carpe diem is of course also about enjoying the moment, something that naturally happens when gardening. To see a flower unfold is to be reminded at the same time that life is both beautiful and fleeting.

As anyone who has been knee-deep in mud knows, gardening also teaches us a fine sense of the ridiculous. That nature often has a quiet but not unkind laugh at our expense. This summer, for example, I filled a new flower bed with summer-blooming annuals grown lovingly from seed, anticipating a tasty display of tall, fire-colored African marigolds paired with dust pink and crimson cosmos (varieties, ‘Antiquity’ ‘, ‘Rubenza’ and ‘Apricotta’) and peach dahlias (variety ‘Preference’). But marigolds turned out to be a strange pygmy variety completely different from what the package promised, half of the dahlias were devoured by slugs and many of the cosmos mysteriously refused to bloom. The result, reminiscent of a cheesy, moth-eaten 1970s bed show, had us all laughing.

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Countering that sense of the ridiculous is a sense of joy and wonder. At the first snowdrop of the year, the first rose bloomed, the first home-grown tomato of the summer was filed from the greenhouse or the polytunnel and eaten with gluttonous pleasure. I would hate a world without either of them.

Which brings us to the generosity of nature and the opportunities our gardens and allotments give us to be generous in turn, as well as to appreciate that quality in others. No one, you agree, could ever accuse the plant kingdom of stinginess. Instead, it teaches us the pleasure of abundance. Although sometimes the latter is just an overabundance of zucchini.

Finally, as we approach the deep darkness of the winter solstice, our gardens and allotments share important lessons with us about death, hope, restoration, and the promise of new life. About the powerful effects that a connection with nature has on our physical, spiritual and mental health.

All of these life lessons have been recognized and celebrated by gardeners throughout the ages. One of them was the late, great garden writer and landscape architect Russell Page, author of the classic The Education of a Gardener, who once wrote that “a garden really lives only insofar as it is an expression of faith, the embodiment of a hope and a praise.” I agree with every word and add that perhaps the greatest lesson gardening teaches is to believe in the future, an increasingly valuable thing in a world that feels so completely at odds with itself himself.

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This week in the garden

Collect fallen autumn leaves from deciduous trees and shrubs and either use them to make leaf mold or add them to the compost pile. For leaf mold, put the leaves in strong bags (old construction bags are ideal), water them lightly if they are very dry, seal the bag, poke a few holes in it with a knife or scissors for air and drainage, then place it in a cool, shady place to rot down for one to two years.

Lift up root crops such as beets and carrots along with any remaining main crop potatoes and store them in a cool, dry shed or cellar. In gardens or allotments prone to winter wet it is also a good idea to harvest and store parsnips, turnips and celeriac and store these in boxes of sand in a cool dark shed or cellar. Freshly emptied beds should then be covered with a generous amount of organic compost to protect the health and fertility of the soil over the winter.

Date for your diary

Throughout November: a series of practical workshops on hazel cutting and hedging by Hedgerows Ireland. hedgerows.ie

Thursday 28 November (20:00): Scoil Mhuire Naofa, Station Road, Carrigtwohill, Co Cork, T45PF80, Summer Flowers from Seed, a talk by Derry Watkins of Special Plants Nursery

Saturday and Sunday, December 7 and 8 and Saturday December 14 (10:00-13:00): The Grinding House, June Blake’s Garden, Tinode, Blessington, Co Wicklow, Seasonal Christmas Wreath Making Workshops with garden writer and flower farmer-florist Fionnuala Fallon, see eventbrite or @theirishflowerfarmer for details/to book tickets.