October 2026

I bought these marigolds back in the Spring to help deter pests from my tomato plants—and give it a bit of color and cheer. They are a variety called “Strawberry Blonde” and when I purchased it, it was a pretty pale yellow with crimson markings. They bloomed steadily throughout the summer, older blooms dying away and making space for new ones.

My tomato plants finished producing, and I’d harvested the last of the basil that I wanted, so I hadn’t been paying much attention to that area. But then, as I was transplanting some cabbage seedlings nearby, I noticed this rather dramatic transformation. The cute strawberry blonde had now become a luscious redhead! At first, I wondered if I was just remembering wrong, but then I saw a last “blonde” bloom hanging as if to confirm her identity. 😊

A little research told me that with some marigold cultivars—especially the red/orange/bicolor types—the pigments responsible for the darker reds and burgundies can become much more pronounced as temperatures cool. So, a bloom that looked predominantly golden during summer can open in cooler fall weather looking mahogany, bronze…or this beautiful crimson red. The genetics didn't change; the expression of the color did.

As I marveled at how nature can continually surprise us, I also thought about how we sometimes go through changes of seasons that bring out something different in us. That marigold plant is exactly the same plant I bought in the Spring. It hadn’t been replaced. It hadn't become something else. The changing weather conditions simply brought forward colors that had been there as possibility all along.

What emerges in us when the season changes? What becomes visible under different conditions? What if change doesn't always mean becoming someone different, but revealing something that couldn't—or didn't need to—emerge in the previous season?

A few things to ponder…

Dr. Phaedra