With the finish line of Christmas behind us and an official fresh start still days away, this week feels a little slack-tide to me.  I’ve been torn between taking a winter’s nap and projecting (day dreaming) about what’s next.  But before diving headfirst into the next garden year and the stack of catalogs waiting for orders, I’m taking this time for reflection.  One of my end of the year tasks is to organize the hundreds of pictures I’ve taken on the property since last January and aside from re-reading the blog, there’s no better way for me to look back on the year.

I’ve been reminded about some of the things we learned – like:

A little Espoma Bulb-Tone fertilizer (4-10-6) thrown in with the annuals when we planted them made them sing like rockstars.

And after 3 straight summers of raking dead leaves out from under the roses twice a week, we learned that good hygiene really can slow down black spot.

When we planned for the ‘Karma Fuchsiana’ dahlias to be a major bright spot in the North Garden, we learned that it’s not a good idea to lean heavily on mail order plants.  (Alas, the tubers we ordered were duds.)

I’ve been reminded about plants I loved and plants I loathed:  I loved the towering teasel and cardoons.  I also adored the tiny basil blobs and ornamental hot peppers.  I was thrilled by the way the Display Garden came together with Fred and Dan’s new design and Gail’s and my plant combinations.  But I didn’t much like the daylilies or the phlox in the North Garden.

And I’ve been reminded to remember the people who have come into this garden over this past year and those who have gone.  Amazingly, visitation was up at Blithewold even though gas prices spiked.  Gail and I worked with the most wonderful volunteer crew on the planet and an incredibly dedicated team on staff.  And I am so lucky to have you out there in the world, reading this.

Are you going through your pictures and reflecting on the past year in your garden too?  What have you learned?  What did you love?

In the middle of a cold blast, chilly on the heels of a dark and snowy Solstice storm, I’m on the lookout for Joy (‘Tis the season, Fa la la la la).  But, luckily, I don’t have to look hard to find it.  No matter how stressful the holidays can be with family weirdness, travel difficulties and financial worries, we gardeners know where to look for – and find – a whole bunch of Joy.

It’s in the lengthening days from here on in and the optimism of another spring, summer and fall to come.

It’s in our faces and the faces of our friends when we laugh.

It’s in the frogs and bees and praying mantises that we know will be back.

It’s in the plants we love-love-love to grow.

It’s in bark and Swiss chard and the opinions of fellow gardeners.

We have so much to look forward to and so much to look back on – all that Joy is almost overwhelming.  ‘Tis the season to pass it on!  Joy to the World, friends and gardeners and Happy Holidays!

Terrariums are (still) cool.  Last year I wrote a post (Terrariums are cool (again)) on how I make – and became addicted to – terrariums.  And if you were inspired then to make one (or ten), they might be in need of a little rehabilitation by now.  One of the coolest things about terrariums is that you can ignore them once the initial fascination wears off.  And that’s kind of the whole point:  Terrariums should be able to take care of themselves for a while.  But then there does come a point when we need to pay them some attention again.

In order to be truly neglect-able terrariums need to have the right balance of light, air and plant material (among other things like soil and drainage).  These terrariums (above) dried out completely.  According to their owners, the tops were never opened so they really “shouldn’t have dried out – it’s not our fault!”.  Look familiar?  I suspect that they were not given enough light.  The light requirement is a delicate issue — too much sun and the terrarium cooks like a little oven.  With no sun at all, the plants transpire too slowly to produce the condensation that waters the soil – and without a vigilant gardener adding water and changing its location, everything crispifies.  There was no resuscitating these terrariums.  I started over from scratch and I’ll give them back to their owners for another go at neglect in a sunnier spot.  Winter sun is generally weak enough for placement near a west or south window if not right in it.  And I keep some of my mason jar terrariums on an east facing windowsill all year round.  A sunbeam at some point in the day is important for creating foggy condensation.

This terrarium thrived in a college dorm room window that got late afternoon sun.  According to Gail’s son, it was a curiosity and conversation piece – everyone thought there was something … else … living in it.  But as you can see the plants had gone beyond friendly competition and were strangling each other.  Look familiar?  Gail removed the overtaking Selaginella fern which had started out as a tiny cutting; the 10 strawberry begonias (Saxifraga stolonifera) which started with one; she divided the creeping fig (Ficus pumila) and the button fern (Pellaea rotundifolia) and ended up creating a whole new terrarium from pieces of the old.  If you check on it, a little trim of overgrowth now and then would save you having to start over.  But I really think half the fun of having terrariums is making them – I just adore the look of a freshly planted jar.  (And that’s when my craving kicks in all over again and have to make or redo at least 4 more.)

Do you have any terrariums?  Are they thriving or suffering?  Are you as addicted to them as we are?

Stay tuned for more posts about houseplants.  – Anyone care to join me on the topic?  Create a link and leave comments, if you do!

Since I can’t top last year’s December Bloom Day (Garden Bloggers Bloom Day is hosted the 15th of every month by Carol at May Dreams Gardens) when the Autumn flowering cherry bloomed in the snow, I’d like to propose a bloom related challenge for the gray days of December instead.

Gail and I are starting to nail down ideas and themes for next year’s Display Garden design and I have suggested that in one of the beds at least, we try to work especially with colors that neither of us likes.  Bloom color is just one of the design elements that we gardeners work with every year and I, for one, am growing tired of certain self imposed limitations and restrictions.  I don’t want the color of a flower on an otherwise worthy plant to hold me back!  And I want to like it.

We all have a particular relationship to color – some of us enjoy hues that are loud and hot while for others bright reds and oranges would bring on a migraine.  Some like baby-cheek pink while others hate it with a passion and are in love with maroon.  I have a dysfunctional relationship with purple and a resentment of yellow.  And for me when they’re together, those complementary colors, rather than complimenting each other (like blue and orange do), hurl insults.  My challenge is to be able to use purple and maybe just a touch of yellow without wincing.  And I have started to look for hints and insights.  For instance, thinking about this has caused me to question what it is about lavender plants (besides the scent, obviously) that makes me love them despite their typical bloom color.  Is it the gray foliage?  Could I learn to love purple if it occurred in a combination with gray plants?  And would I like yellow if, like a close-up of a Hakonechloa leaf, it was placed with pinkish and greenish?

This is a challenge that Gail and I might be willing to take on because at least in theory we’re making these gardens for visitors’ enjoyment rather than our own.  That gives us a certain freedom – in a way we don’t have to like what we do as long as it works really well for somebody else.   I know it’s different at home.  At home we have even tighter budgets and we will probably always gravitate towards plants that don’t argue with us.  But even at home I get a little tired of the same-old, same-old and maybe I’ll promise to shake it up there this coming year too.  At the very least it’s a fun mental exercise and I can see from looking back at pictures that there are occasions when my least favorite colors don’t make me want to look away.  What colors do you avoid like the plague?  Do you think there’s anything you could do – any combination of ugly and pretty colors that could induce love rather than eye pain?  Are you up for the challenge?

I thought the tide was high during the Nor’easter of spring 2007 – and it was – but this morning’s moon tide storm sure did flood Blithewold.  I took these pictures about an hour after high tide so we’ll all just have to imagine what it must have looked like earlier.  If only I had been a little speedier leaving the comfort of home this morning…  If you’re at all familiar with Blithewold, then you are accustomed to the Narragansett Bay quietly lapping up a certain part of the view.  When the Bay shifts its shores, it’s easy, especially looking through snapshots, to become a bit disoriented.  So I’ve included a couple/three pictures of what “normal” looks like down near the water.  Click on pictures for a larger look and hover over for captions.

Unlike my great-grandfather who would worry and go out to check on his gardens during any kind of weather, I’m always a little thrilled to forgetfulness by a good storm.  But I can sober right up when faced with the aftermath.  The grounds, aside from the flooding, didn’t seem to fare too badly – no major limbs or trees down that I saw.  But we’ll likely have our work cut out for us in the Rock Garden – maybe especially in this spot. (In the top right photo, this section of the garden is beyond the winterberry…)

Over the years we’ve learned the hard way what-not-to-plant there and we’ll have to wait and see if we’ll be adding to that list.

How did your garden survive the last storm?  Did you worry during or did you enjoy the ride?