Late autumn settles over the Rage Garden like a long exhale. Garlic calls to me with its old protective folklore, and winter roots gather sweetness beneath the cooling soil. Indiana’s freeze–thaw cycles lift beets like offerings, and Rocko the chipmunk adds his usual chaos, relocating cloves and judging my spacing. This is the season of boundaries, memory, and quiet winter magic.
Rage Garden Power: Cultivating Resilient Homestead Dreams
