It’s still January for at least for another day or so, but it looks strangely an awful lot like mid-February – or even March here and there, and feels about the same. My brain thinks that means that May is right around the corner. But it isn’t. Not by a long shot. We can’t have seen the end of winter yet.

It’s hard to keep from speculating about spring and summer. Will the pendulum swing? Will we get dumped on by an April blizzard? Will summer be miserably chilly? All we can be sure of is that the weather is weird and will probably continue to be so from here on in. I think I can’t remember anymore what normal feels like anyway.

And who knows what the plants are thinking. My guess is that plants that hate wet winter feet are hating having wet feet. We’ve had more rain and less snow than we’re used to and the ground is only staying frozen – just barely – in the shade.

Anything that is blooming early isn’t likely to come into bloom again at the proper time so with any luck their pollinators are taking advantage of the warmish weather too. Selfishly, I can’t help but be a little disappointed about premature blooms because some flowers are easily wrecked by temperature swings and don’t look quite as outstanding as they otherwise could.

But it is what it is and the only thing to do is go in search of the tease and enjoy its pull towards spring. I know it’s way too early for bloom day too but what haven’t you had to wait for in your garden?

It is prettier than the old map, interactive (click on it to check out the zip code zone finder), and the information is finally up to date. But it’s not good news and there are no surprises here. Nothing we haven’t already figured out for ourselves. The new map is based on weather-station data collected between 1976 and 2005 (as opposed to the 1990 map, which was based on data from 1974-1986.) I’m actually surprised at the similar spread of years used in the data collection – it feels like the temperature changes have been more wildly noticeable in the years since the last map was drawn and with that bias the map might tell a different story. We are living through proof that wild swings occur from one year to the next and so far this wimpy winter could count to notch our zone even higher.

Blithewold is solidly within the very cusp of zone 7a. (My garden a mile and a half away is 6b.) But we have always called it zone 6 to play it safe. That way we can be pleasantly surprised when marginally hardy plants come back to life again in the summer. Aucuba japonica (zone 6-10) has always bounced back for us – I only remember one winter that almost did it in. Harlequin glory bower (Clerodendrum trichotomum, zone 7-10) has been perfectly hardy too, not even dying back to the ground like the books say it should when it lives on the edge. Ours has had the protection of the North Garden wall (seen in the picture below recently repaired.) Salvia guaranitica (zone 7-10) has come back for us in the Display Garden herb bed for the last 3 years or so.

I’m tempted to use this map’s confirmation of what our experience has been to finally call our zone a 7, and as an excuse to make the best of it and test the hardiness of a few more plants. At home I have successfully overwintered leopard plant (Farfugium japonicum ‘Aureomaculata’, zone 7-8) and am trying cast iron plant (Aspidistra eliator, zone 7-11) and Tetrapanax paperifer (zone 7-10) this year. Perhaps if we found just the right spot along a south facing wall, (I have such a spot at home…) a winter blooming Edgeworthia chrysantha (zone 8-10) could be coerced to return. But I suppose that would really be pushing it. (So to speak.)

Of course it bears remembering that zone hardiness isn’t the only measure of a plant’s ability to survive in our gardens – soil quality, light and moisture levels are at least as important, over winter and summer. Has your zone changed? Will you use the new information to take a chance on anything new?

Snow finally fell in measurable amounts (about 9″) over the weekend forcing us to take life a little more slowly. I think that’s what I love best about a snow days: permission to slow down and tuck in. Luckily I didn’t have anywhere I needed to be as the snow fell and I hope you didn’t either.

I was really starting to feel the need for a break even if it’s mostly psychological. A blank canvas can be paralyzing but I wonder if that’s just our brain’s way of slowing down to clear its slate too. As much as I don’t love the feeling when I’m staring dumbly at an empty page, I think I have come to rely on looking out at a blanketed garden over the winter in order to reboot my garden mind and fill it up with fresh ideas.

Even though our roads are clear and everyone has picked up the pace again, this morning I cashed in on the novelty of the snow – and its abbreviated lifespan (melting already with rain on the way) and spent some time staring at it’s blanking blanket – and noticing how the canvas is framed.

Has your garden been tucked under a blanket yet? How about you? Does snow cover help you mentally make a fresh start?