Frost Has Fallen
- Debra Flaming
- Oct 24
- 2 min read
Thursday, October 23rd
The hard frost has finally fallen, and with it came the end of this year’s glorious dahlia blooms. The fields that once shimmered in every color of the rainbow are now touched by silver—leaves curled, petals faded, stems softened by the cold. Before we can begin harvesting the tubers, every plant must be cut down. It’s a necessary step, but somehow, it feels less painful now that the frost has already stolen their beauty. The letting go feels natural—like closing a chapter we’ve read and loved.
This morning we called our mentor, Jim Lamson, a seasoned dahlia hybridizer and grower whose wisdom has guided us through so much of this season. Jim generously donated many of the varieties we planted on the southwest end of our east field last spring. We made a few novice mistakes—small details that likely affected our tuber yield—but Jim reassured us that his own yields were lower this year too. Maybe it wasn’t just us; perhaps the weather and the earth had their own rhythm this season.
Jim also gave us valuable advice about using vermiculite for winter storage. I had spent hours reading conflicting recommendations online—some growers said to add water, others warned against it, and no one seemed to agree on how much was enough. Jim’s answer was both simple and precise: “Add only enough water so it doesn’t clump, just feels moist.” He reminded us that in our dry Idaho climate, a little moisture helps prevent shriveling, but too much can lead to rot. His final bit of advice—check the tubers two or three times through the winter—feels like a rhythm we can manage, a small act of stewardship for what will become next year’s beauty.
We completed harvesting the entire east field, and the processing is now moving at full speed. Friday we begin digging in the west field, and it feels a bit like turning a corner into hope again. The plants there have been strong and full of promise all season, and we can’t wait to see what treasures lie beneath the soil.
Even as the frost settles and the fields grow quiet, the work continues—and so does the anticipation of spring.
Sincerely,
Debra Flaming
