The question was asked by a woman who didn’t garden, but who wished to convince her obsessed husband that they needed a vacation. She wanted heavyweight opinion behind her when she made her pitch for freedom and Mai Tais.

I spoke the word ‘November’ instinctively (though only the lettuce seedlings I was weeding were paying attention) and listened with satisfaction as the panelists agreed one after another with my learned assessment.

Speaking as an obsessive for obsessives, the fact of the matter is that there isn’t any good time to leave the garden (I’m squarely on the husband’s side on this), but November is better than most if you’re trying to convince someone that there is more to life than homegrown green beans and dahlia collections. My reasoning follows:

Take Advantage of Exhaustion

For one, the gardener is wiped out. Over the past 6-8 months the temperate garden has delivered a mix of exciting moments and dashed dreams that bear no relation whatsoever to the #bestlifeever being dished out liberally on their social media feeds. Mentally he or she is already standing in April of next year, expectantly waiting for another round of pleasure and punishment. But it’s fresh punishment with a new twist and therefore something to look forward to. This year’s garden is squarely in the rear-view mirror.

Second Stage Autumn is Worth Fleeing

The summer harvest is in and the sublime beauty and rich summer/fall scents that haunt October and keep us in thrall for fall are over. In 1844 the poet and humorist Thomas Hood summed up the month between fresh pumpkins and jolly elves succinctly:

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,

No comfortable feel in any member —

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! —

November is cold without the excitement of the first fire; and decay without the charm of reddening leaves. It’s the month we remember that we didn’t get the chimney swept and discover that the squirrels got into the tractor’s engine compartment. It’s simply best to leave for a couple weeks and hope they don’t get into the house too.

And as long as you head south, the chances are slim you’ll have to experience someone else’s November as bleakly and intimately as you have to experience your own.

Neglect is Officially Sanctioned & Blessed

In recent years, the trend to leave the seed heads, stems, and general mess of the dying garden for wildlife has become so popular that gardeners who have the temerity to neaten edges and rake the leaves off smothered lawns in November might find themselves shouted at by passing busy-bodies taking their righteousness out for an airing.

Far better to skip the sermon and sip the bourbon.

If It’s Not In, It’s Done

For the most part, the shlepping in of tender plants by sciatica-ridden gardeners (hereafter referred to as ‘The Damned’) is finished in November. Even if your beloved obsessive protests that he just has to get a couple more pots in the garage over the weeks to come, Mother Nature will soon give him the mother of all deadlines.

Bulb Planting Will Wait, Once Again

Whilst November is still a viable month for bulb planting, it’s also the best month for bulb planting procrastination.

Yes there may be bags and crates sitting in the basement awaiting attention, but I would wager a good deal of money that if they weren’t put in the ground by the overachiever in September and October, they won’t be seeing soil until it’s coated in a thin layer of December snow. This argument for staying home is easily bested.

The Garden Will Be Fine

If we’re lucky, we’ll have a decent amount of moisture in November, which allows us to leave home without hiring a teenager at extortionate cost to underwater September’s newly planted trees. Baby veg such as lettuces, spinach and kale are also well established (or should be), and it’s only the eating of them that the gardener will miss (or at least pretend to). Try out some new fusion cuisine in a new place and you might come back to those beds of greens with new enthusiasm.

Not to mention your long-suffering spouse.