Read by Michael Flamel

It starts with that taste kids get in the back of their throats the day after Halloween. You remember that gummy sick sensation like a slug slimed its way across your tongue. In this preview of adulthood, we get the child’s version of the New Year’s Resolution as our youngsters make good-for-one-day vows that they’ll never, ever eat candy bars again.

Next, a mere three weeks later, we reach that great American holiday, OverEating Day. In keeping with its symbol—a bird with an enormous, round belly and very small head—an entire nation does its best to turkey-out on meat, stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, greens, biscuits, ice cream, and pie. We all then collapse into sagging armchairs and beds, giving thanks that we’re not forced to do that more than once a year.

Of course, this assault on the body is immediately tailgated by one on the billfold, as we rush through the four-week dash of National OverSpending Month. Stuffed monkeys, solution­less puzzles, fad gag gifts, insta-break plastic toys, yet another sweater, frilly undergarments (Isn’t this winter?) The irrationality of our behavior is glaringly proved by the utter inutility of our gifts. (That reminds me: Have you ordered all your gift subscriptions to GreenPrints magazine yet? Only fill-in-the-blank more shopping days left, you know!)

Then, a mere seven days later, we take this spiraling cycle, smoke and cinders flying, into its final nosedive. Shunning the chance to commence one annum with a modicum of reflection, we start the New Year with our absolute lousiest foot forward—a thought-thumping, 152-proof hangover.

What’s going on here? Why, in the short span of 63 days, does our culture leapfrog through four, count ’em, four mass onslaughts of overindulgence?

Well, elementary, my dear listener, this is obviously Withdrawal Behavior. Going from one overdose to another, each failing to satisfy the real desire? It’s like the cigarette smoker who tries to quit by turning to food, alcohol, or (shudder) TV!

But, pray tell, what species-wide craving can be so powerful that, in denial, we have to plunge four times into such passionate pools of putrid personal performance?

Why, gardening, of course! November and December are the withdrawal months. They’re that dark night of the gardener—the hopeless period between first frost and first seed catalog—the season of the Winter Solstice, when there’s little, so little, sun to raise either plants or spirits. Pale, cold months 11 and 12 are when gardeners are forced, hands quaking, vision shaking, pulse aching, and temper breaking, to go cold turkey.

Turkey? Well, not turkey, actually. Nervously pining for the scent of sweet pea or taste of tomato, longing for sun on the back and sweat on the chest—that’s going cold garden. ❖