Palate Cleanser

Another wintry week, following on teasing breaks in the weather that only hint of things to come.

It's a good time to get away, briefly, for those of us fortunate enough to be able to travel. For the rest of us, it's an endurance test.

Still, I wouldn't trade our winters for something less definitely seasonal. Just last week I was back home in Louisiana, where the camellias were glorious and the saucer magnolias, sweet olive, and winter honeysuckle were all in full flower. But it was damp and cloudy, with a wet chill that permeates everything... typical Deep South winter weather. And with the woods full of pine, holly and magnolia, there's (dare I say it) an unrelenting greenness to the landscape that made me miss our stark and spare northeastern winter.

Make no mistake, I'm as anxious for spring as anyone. But before the warm weather arrives, with its rush and push of growing things and the attendant tasks, I'd like to pause and appreciate this most unloved of seasons.

To gardeners, these are the gifts of a harsh, definitive winter. . .

Clarity

With snow covering the ground the air is clean, dry and refreshing, so it's a fine time to take a walk or just appreciate the stars at night. Seems to clear my head too, making space for sorting things out. In the garden, clarity of vision as the strengths and weaknesses of our designs reveal themselves, stripped of the forgiving layers of leaf and flower. We see improvements to be made, lines to be altered, branches to be removed. The structure of trees and shrubs is revealed against sky and snow, and the stripped-down color palette of white, black, brown and grey, like a Brueghel painting, is surprisingly satisfying.

Respite

Blessed relief from my bottomless summer to-do list. A chance to reorganize the garden shed and clean the tools, without being rushed on to the next job by the realization that growing things can't wait. Getting the seed-starting materials together and, unhurried, perusing the catalogs in front of a toasty fire, cat on lap. Looking back over the hundreds of garden photos I take every season, amazed that the frigid, withered scene out the window was, just months ago, so lush and colorful and bursting with growth.

Dormancy

I get a bit annoyed when what I call Sunday Gardeners say, "oh it's winter, everything's dead!"  It's not, of course... maybe your petunias are, but real gardens are never dead. Here in the Hudson Valley we usually have a snow cover during the coldest months, keeping sleeping perennials insulated from drying winter wind and the thawing that winter sunlight can induce. We take for granted that so many of the plants we consider easy to grow here:  bearded iris, peonies, hostas and many more, actually require this dormancy in order to grow and flower normally. Gardeners in parts of the world with mild winters struggle to satisfy them. My mom spent an entire winter once, dumping ice cube trays on a spindly peony crown, trying to induce a bloom... as gardeners, we always pine for what we can't grow.

Delineation

Without the foliage and under a pristine blanket of snow, the garden's structure is revealed like a three-dimensional, walk-through plan on paper, a clean slate for trying out fresh ways to improve the space. This is the time I like to lay out new planting areas, or expand existing ones (I know, I know) using 24" rebar rods from the lumber yard. These are cheap and can be driven into the frozen ground with a light hammer to delineate a curved line, or anchor the ends of a mason's line for a straight one. When I'm happy with the layout, I leave them in place until the spring when the ground is clear and dry enough to cut the line with a spade.

Time

The greatest gift of our long, cold winters. A few months to relax, read, cook, enjoy the company of loved ones. There are winter chores for the gardener, of course, but they're not very pressing. And with the garden hibernating, I have no excuse not to tackle cleaning out the linen closet and reorganizing the pantry, the indoor tasks that are shoved aside during the gardening season.

It will come soon enough. As the sunlight strengthens and the days become, finally, noticeably longer, I'm savoring this moment. I'm appreciating that we have clearly defined seasons in our part of the world, each with its beauties and its obligations. I'm resting, renewing, reviving.

And, of course, I'm dreaming of springtime.