10/27/2026
New territory... and it feels downright wrong.
I have never dug my dahlias before the first hard frost turns everything into a sad, blackened memory. Yet here I am, lifting tubers while there are still blooms everywhere. It feels so weird!
Blooms. And tubers. Huge, massive clumps. Both at the same time.
Usually this ritual involves layers of clothing, gloves, a hat, cold fingers, a lot of muttering, and a few snowflakes. Today? It's 68 degrees, overcast, and absolutely glorious. I hardly know how to behave.
The plants themselves are looking a little tired. They've spent every ounce of energy putting on a spectacular season-long show and they're clearly running on fumes. But underground? They're packing some serious hardware.
I took a break from digging to cut a few blooms and just stand there admiring them. It felt right to soak in a little more color and cherish the last vivid moments of the garden before winter closes the curtain for another year.
And let's be honest, not everything got the memo. Hollyhill Tarantula is still out there acting like it's peak August. That's the big IC red bloom in my hand, and as I stand here counting, that beast has 17 open blooms and 7+ buds still waiting in the wings.
Some dahlias are winding down.
Hollyhill Tarantula? It's grabbing the microphone, demanding an encore, and refusing to leave the stage.
Holdin' on. 🌸💪
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