Winter is coming, to steal a phrase from the popular HBO show, The Game of Thrones. Along with the ritual of raking leaves comes another fall tradition for gardeners, that of planting bulbs.

Tulip bulbs, daffodils, crocus, snow drops, and anemone bulbs are nestled deep into bone meal-lined holes and trenches. In New England, getting those beds prepared can be an arduous task. Bulb planters, crafted to ease the task, are stymied by the rocky soil. Shovels spring back from tuberous roots snaking through the earth — whether the mother plant is obviously nearby or not. Even on a cool November day, it is necessary to toss aside sweatshirts in the struggle to move the earth. Stones are sorted aside to make a trench deep enough to protect the flowers in waiting.

That careful preparation still leaves the gardener with some reservations. Will the frost line be so deep that the bulbs do not survive the winter? Will there be enough snow cover to insulate the ground? Will ravenous field mice come across the newly loosened patch of garden and decide to make a feast of the bulbs planted there?

Planting bulbs is a labor of love and an act of faith. Like so much in life, it is an act that hinges on hope — the hope that hard work and attention to detail will result in a future filled with blossoms bringing joy when the long winter is past.

What better time than the season of Thanksgiving to dig past the hard places in our hearts and make room for forgiveness and gratitude, which will become things of beauty as they are nurtured over the weeks, months, and years to come?

Winter is coming, but the ground is not yet frozen. Dig past the unyielding stone to the hope of a gentler spring.