There is no way I’m going back outside today. Nope. I’m staying in no matter how many colors there are. They can name themselves today. It’s cold! Maybe our little thaw has made me soft. Or maybe I’m a zone 8. It’s only 14° out there and the wind is gusting to 35mph making it feel more like something truly negative. It’s too cold for the nose to work and any scent has been blown away anyway. I’m staying in.

But keeping a positive attitude, thank goodness we’ve got work to do in our greenhouse and potting shed. Never mind that it’s only in the 50’s in here – that’s downright toasty. And the sun is getting high enough out of the south that some of the ice might even melt as the houses warm into the 60’s. On this frigid Friday (I’m joining Mr. McGregor’s Daughter‘s meme today) we’ll do some overdue potting up and a bit more catalog shopping – plants this time, now that our seed orders have been sent out. And I expect we’ll wrap our chilly fingers around consecutive cups of tea.

Are you planted inside today too or are you made of hardier stuff ? What zone are you?

–Speaking of hardy, in the greenhouse we’re babysitting a little Edgeworthia chrysantha and it’s beginning to open up. I just learned that it’s a Daphne relative (oh dear) and hardy to zone 7. (Blithewold is officially USDA zone 7 but I don’t believe it. We call it a 6.) Do any of you in a nearby zone have experience with this lovely little winter bloomer? I’d like about 10 more of our very own if there’s truly a chance they’ll survive and thrive…

The annual January thaw always fools me – and maybe the wrens too – into thinking that spring must be right around the corner. After yesterday’s warm rain deluge, the snow is a memory, the ground gives and squishes like a soaked sponge and there is so much variety in the shades of green and brown that I’m getting distracted trying to give them all names. (viridian, turquoise, jade, moss, pea, blue lichen, salad mix; topaz, russet, ashes of roses, sepia, raw umber, muddy boot…) Anyway there’s a rainbow, so to speak, (get it – rainbow?) outside and it smells pretty good too.

Some gardeners take the cold weather opportunity to find hot (color) climes this time of year. But as envious of them as I generally feel (evidently, Costa Rica is the happiest place on Earth), I wouldn’t want to miss the thaw and the daily reminder to appreciate the changes even when they’re really, really subtle. (This is how I console myself – along with naming the greens and browns.) Plus there are all sorts of seminars and lectures over the winter and I wouldn’t want to miss any of those either – just last night Lee Reich gave a talk here on how to espalier fruit trees (and shrubs – currants!) and tomorrow we’re off to the RI Nursery and Landscape Association winter conference.

Can you smell the earth today? How do you console yourself for not being in Costa Rica? (Or is that where you are?)

Last night Gail and I made a trek to Boston to hear a lecture given by Dan Pearson (co-sponsored by Arnold Arboretum and Trinity Church). If you don’t already know of Dan Pearson, he is one of the rock stars of the horticultural world – a garden designer from the UK who works around the world and has written for Gardens Illustrated, The Observer, The Daily Telegraph and The Sunday Times as well as a few books – most recently one called Spirit: Garden Inspiration. He spoke about a life-long fascination with the spirit of landscapes and has traveled the world to find the places that resonate for him (and would for any of us): Untouched places like a remote part of New Zealand where trees have grown on trees that have grown on trees that have grown on epiphytes that have grown on trees – for millennia; barely touched places like the ancient Druid altar of Dartmoor; places where nature intersects with human intervention – like the Moss Temple garden in Japan where nothing is extraneous and you must participate in a ritual chant before entering; and places entirely man-made like Chicago’s Cloud Gate sculpture.

Nothing Pearson said was particularly earth shattering – in fact, he’s not really into that sort of thing. His designs have a light touch because he’s not interested in making “indelible marks” on the landscape. He talked about how the landscape – our gardens – can be places that connect us to the earth – in the details, and in the passage of time. Landscapes can humble us and help clear our mind. He mentioned an annual walk he takes in southern Spain, where for 2 weeks he walks the same path (to a remote limestone cliff beach. Please.) and every day as his eyes become accustomed to the landscape, more and more details are revealed to him. I know that people visit (and re-visit) Blithewold for the solace of a comfort-zone connection to nature, and although it might not be Andalusia by any stretch, regular walks here – anywhere – can be every bit as meditative.

Some of the places he’s been -and designed- were spare to the point of austere. But elegant and perfect in every way. Gail and I spent the train ride home talking about the mental toughness test we’d have to keep from embellishing some of these places. We, I think, focus a lot on long seasons of interest (more blooms, no waiting!) whereas he celebrates the ephemeral. – It seems difficult to reconcile being a plant junkie with a nature inspired design and an elegant touch. (But I suspect Pearson’s a bit of a junkie too – he just has more self-control perhaps.)

He is so immersed in his work that by now it is – and maybe it always was – instinctual. When someone asked about his actual design process, Pearson said that it’s like when you meet someone for the first time, you know very quickly if you have things in common and whether or not a lasting relationship will follow. Same thing with a garden. He just knows it. I realize now that I have completely lost sight of the first impression I had of my own garden – before it was mine, which was a sublime feeling of being perfectly “at home”. That is what should whisper the changes I make there.

Do you look for or feel the spirit in places? – Where? Are you a garden whisperer?

For a mid-January Garden Bloggers Bloom Day, as much as I always want to show off greenhouse flowers, I think it’s more honest to say that the only thing in full-full bloom around here is desire. A raft of seed catalogs is spread across the potting shed – there’s no bare surface – and Gail and I are writing endless wish-lists.

Seed companies just know how to get us. There’s the picture – that tiny image of a perfect flower. When I squint my eyes at those little pictures I can only imagine that this could be the plant – the one! - that will make the garden more beautiful – or now that even I am thinking about growing some food at home – more productive than ever before. The description always backs that up and practically guarantees that if we buy a packet of this particular seed, we’ll live happily ever after and be rich beyond our wildest dreams and the weather will be perfect every day.

Am I wrong? Don’t the words “New!” and “nonstop” and “juiciest” affect you the same way? But we’re all adults here. Just like cruising the personals for our dream date (not that I’m admitting to ever having done that…) we have learned to read between the lines. “Self sows”? Uh huh, that one will be back like a bad penny, like it or not. And we check references. If it’s offered by different companies, which picture is the clearest? Which description sounds the likeliest? How many seeds for how many dollars? Is it a match made in heaven? And we’ve been burned before so we’re cautious. “Purple” might mean hot pink and “cream” might just be bright blazing yellow. But we’re also willing to take our chances.

We’re in the honeymoon phase of the relationship with our seed orders. They’re all perfect. They all have tremendous potential. We’re totally in love. Right now, in my mind’s eye the garden has never been more glorious and perfect and in the fullest of bloom. It’s when the orders arrive, that the real work of the relationship begins. Our hearts might be broken right away by poor germination; the relationship could just damp-off; or worse, the plant might grow and flourish but not live up to our expectations. If only we had seen a full-body shot rather than a close-up… but the seed companies know how to get us. And thank goodness – in January we need their blooms to build our dreams on.

Is your dream garden in full bloom right now? (For a look at what’s really in bloom today around the world, visit May Dreams Gardens.)

I promised a post on the decade’s best plants and after making an enormous list with Gail’s help, realized that it was too hard to narrow down our favorites to a mere ten. So, because our favorite perennials and shrubs are essentially permanent fixtures in the gardens (if I haven’t talked about them all already, you can be sure I will), and we’re heading into full-on propagation season, I thought it would be much better to give you a list of plants that we actively choose to grow every year. Below is a probably very familiar looking gallery of 10 of our favorite seed annuals and tender perennials that will follow us into the decade. Gail and I can’t imagine the gardens without them. (I know I’ve already talked about a lot of these guys too so I’ll try to be brief…)

5 favorite seed annuals: Nicotiana (sylvestris, mutabilis, ‘Tinkerbell’, ‘Lime Green’…) I love them all and don’t mind doing a little editing whenever they seed themselves around. Asclepias physocarpa ‘Oscar’ (a.k.a. Gomphocarpus physocarpus ‘Hairy Balls’ – Swan plant) I’ve already gone on and on about this one – sturdy, 6′ tall with delicate flowers and weird puff ball seed pods. Pennisetum ruppelianum a.k.a. Pennisetum setaceum – Fountain grass – we love it because it’s a good looking grass that grows into a large graceful clump by August. Gomphrena - globe amaranth. I heart polka-dots and these are just the best cut flower. Zinnia. No garden should be without zinnias. They’re too easy (7 weeks from seed to bloom) and too beautiful. We especially love the Benary series (for tall) and Profusion (for short).

5 favorite tender perennials: Stachytarpheta - Porterweed. On a fast-growing to 3′ plant, inconspicuous flowers climb a green stem spike. Weird = love. Plectranthus fruticosus – we grow it for matte green foliage with purple undersides and love it for the very late (Sept/Oct) luminescent flowers. African blue basil – you already know why I love this plant – scent + bee-magnet blooms + vigor = love. Salvia guaranitica – It’s Gail’s and the hummingbirds’ very favorite and I’m sorry I didn’t take a decent picture of it this year! And Cupheas, which are also high on Gail’s list. – We’ll take any we can get our paws on but especially love ‘David Verity’ because it’s never not blooming.

What annuals and tender perennials can’t your garden grow without?