Of all of our snow falls so far this winter, this one was by far the prettiest, the easiest to walk through (although it’s still a bootdeep trudge), and the most personally rewarding. My walk around Blithewold this morning was perfectly timed to catch the just-come-out sun catching the heavy glaze on the trees, and to remember why I love winter at the very same moment I was reminded that spring is coming up next.

I always think of robins as being a harbinger of spring but evidently they’re here the whole time. Why don’t we see them more often? (Or am I just not paying attention?) Today a good-sized flock of robins and cedar waxwings were working on the privet and crab apples, so intent on filling their bellies they hardly bothered to scatter when I came along.

Do you see robins year-round? Which berries are being eaten in your garden right now?

I think there’s a part of every gardener who chooses to disbelieve, ignore or at the very least push on the arbitrary seeming zone boundaries laid by the USDA. But then every few years we get a day or two in the winter that makes us cringe for our “marginally hardy” plants. When I got to work this morning it was -1°F with a bitter wind blowing out of the north. To me and to some of our plants, that’s cold. It’s hard for me to believe that if we truly are in the zone 6a that some zip code zone finders say we are (others say we’re a 7 and now I’m really confused) it would be possible for it to get even colder. -10°? No thank you. That’s just not for me and even -1° is cutting it close for our Aucuba japonica and Harlequin glorybower (Clerodendrum trichotomum) among other things.

But actually I’m not worried. It’s possible to live in the zone now and again and still be in denial of it. There’s a good heavy blanket of snow protecting everything (at least those things that weren’t smashed by it like the poor Rose Garden daphnes…) and we’ve had longer stretches of bitter cold than this in years past and the survivors survived. If worse comes to worse the tender plants will die back to the ground and start fresh. The Clerodendron, in fact, is only protected by a low stone wall by the North Garden at the top of the Great Lawn and has not died back even in the worst of winters. (Was it January in 2004 or 2005 that never rose above the teens?)

Have you been in your zone yet this winter? Are you worried about any plants?

As much as I love and appreciate the meditative quiet of a good snow fall, we’ve had a lot of opportunity to meditate lately and I’m starting to feel a little restless. In order to shake off the calm I’ve turned the radio up high, shelved the picture-less books and am reveling in any bright colors I can find. I’m paying particular attention to the catalogs printed in full color on glossy stock and taking breaks for hits of high color in the greenhouse. I even ventured outside (briefly – brrr!) to find a bright spot out there.

Are you looking for bright colors right now too? Where are you finding them?

I can’t remember if the honor of choosing Blithewold’s sweet peas was conferred on me or if I grabbed it like a greedy toddler (“Mine!”) but it’s one of those tasks that I enjoy so much it doesn’t feel like work. It reminds me of those years in Seattle when I made special trips to the Pike Place Market in June. I would walk the length at least twice in order to drink in the scent of thousands of sweet peas and choose the very best bouquet from among a dozen or so vendors. My handful of sweet peas had to have a good balance of dark colors, picotees, bi-colors, and pastels and at least a few rare apricot or orange blossoms to give it some pop. And it had to be at least $.50 cheaper than the priciest bunch.

Now I hem and haw over our seed order the same way. There must be a good balance of colors, stripes, picotees, etc; and a decent bargain in terms of number of seeds per packet, shipping rate, etc. I also feel I owe it to our visitors to make sure we have the best varieties: the newest and most interesting as well as the old favorites with the longest stems, biggest blossoms, truest color, and/or highest scent. I research availability, cross reference sources for price and try very hard to narrow my selection down to what might actually fit on the fence.

This year my search revolved around finding my Holy Grail. Back in 2007 I fell for one called ‘Nimbus’ that Sweet Pea Gardens hasn’t offered since. After failing last year to convince Unwins to change their policy about selling seeds to US customers, I thought I had given up. But ‘Nimbus’ will be on our order this year from another source, Enchanting Sweet Peas in CA. Their packets only contain 10 seeds, but their shipping cost is minimal and they offer price breaks the more varieties you order. Such a deal.

Now comes the hard part: choosing between sweet peas we’ve grown and loved, and new temptations. ‘Oban Bay’ I know is a gorgeous pale blue but could ‘Charlies Angel’, another pale blue one, possibly be prettier? Would our visitors appreciate as I would seeing the two varieties “trialed” together perhaps along with another pale favorite like ‘Blue Celeste’ or ‘Chatsworth’? Decisions, decisions… But it’s a difficulty worth savoring and one that, unlike any kind of forced choice made on a sinking boat or in a damaged country, reminds me how fortunate I am.

When you choose seeds do you opt for new varieties, familiar ones, or a bit of both? Do you savor the decision making process or tear your hair out a little? ‘Fess up, do you ever order more than you have room for?

My definition of “bloom” gets pretty loose this time of year and in order to participate in Garden Bloggers’ Bloom Day, I am not above breaking all the rules. Given that it’s the middle of January and we’re in New England, it’s perfectly acceptable – preferable even – to have snow instead of an abundance of flowers in the gardens. And isn’t the snowscape as pretty in its own quiet way as any full summer garden?

And of course we’re lucky to have a greenhouse full of interesting plants, some in bloom, some not. I highly recommend taking a moment to focus on any houseplants you may have, or visiting a greenhouse (ours is open) whenever your eyes start to glaze over from too much catalog reading. I find it helpful to groom and water and fuss with plants when the gajillion varieties of basil suddenly start to sound like they might all be exactly the same only different, and when I can’t decide between ‘Violet Jasper’ and ‘Chocolate Stripes’ tomatoes.

Clarity always comes to me. (The answer is: both, and…!)  Does touching plants help you make your winter decisions too?

For lists and pictures of what might actually be in bloom around the blogosphere, visit May Dreams Gardens.