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?

Fall is dragging its feet getting into winter and although some people and plants I know are ready for it to be cold, it couldn’t be a sweeter treat for us gardeners. We’ve been braced for bitter winds and flurries ever since the first frost (which came with bitter winds and flurries) but have been able to leave our coats on hooks and mittens in pockets for weeks now. These last few days especially have been weirdly warm but so perfect for taking in the last of the fall color seemingly stuck in a holding pattern, and catching up on outside work. Gail and I spent most of today picking more veg for the food pantry (lettuce, carrots, spinach, kale and more!) and spent yesterday in the Display Garden tidying up fallen seed heads. We still can’t quite do the final cutback: some of the plants, like nicotiana and a few salvias, haven’t quit blooming yet; others like yarrow and calendula have started up all over again.

The bees are still out foraging and there are great clots of milkweed bugs on the crispy milkweed seedpods (can they still eat the dead tissue or are they just … busy?) and they’re even on nicotiana leaves. Every year we have to look these guys up to see if they’re good, bad or indifferent. They do eat milkweed pods – and maybe nicotiana leaves? – and because of that they themselves are as safe as Monarchs from predation. (Any bird silly enough to eat one will get the throw-ups.) But we only remember spotting them at the end of the season and they don’t seem to do a lot of damage. So we left them and their plants be. The bugs pictured are adults; as instars they are smaller, shiny bright orange-red and wingless. (As always, click the pic to enlarge.)

Despite the bonus of unfrozen days, some creatures don’t seem to be finding what they need to survive winter (if it ever gets here.) Have you noticed an absence of acorns this year? We know that oaks put out extra acorns now and again as a way of insuring that some of them survive to become trees, and Gail and I remember last year as a big acorn year. This year the trees rested apparently and the squirrels are frantic. Good thing we planted tulips… If anyone has a good squirrel pilfer prevention technique to share, please do!

Are you enjoying a few extra days of mild weather too – or do you just think it’s too weird and time for a change?

There seems to be a different quality to the flowers that bloom late. I could be making this up but they seem to absorb the light more than reflect it like summer flowers do. (Don’t they?) Maybe it’s just that the lower light makes everything catch it and keep it, summer’s hanger-onner blooms included Or maybe fall flowers seem extra-special and luminous simply because they keep the season colorful for us and nutritious for the wildlife right up to the bitter cold. (Click on pictures for better view.)

Asters and Sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ have finally come into their own and the space they’ve taken up all summer is totally justified (except for the 4′ wide ones in the North Garden that bloom even later than this…)

What would we do without fall blooming grasses like purple love grass (Eragrostis spectabilis) and pink muhly grass (Muhlenbergia capillaris)? Both are natives and I know the purple love grass reseeds because I have it coming up like a puff of smoke out of a driveway crack at home. I don’t remember ever growing the mist grass before and I’m deeply in love (but can’t seem to take a decent picture of it.) Even if that doesn’t reseed (and I don’t know if it’s likely to), I’m looking forward to the clumps increasing enough to get a good shot. This year we’re going to try to winter-over purple fountain grass (Pennisetum setaceum ‘Rubrum’) down cellar. Anyone had any luck with that?

The toad lily (Tricyrtis hirta) surprises everyone, even those of us who have always been fond of it. It’s just that strange and lovely.

But strangest of all is the crabapple in bloom down at the water’s edge. We can only surmise that it is under extreme stress after being defoliated by Irene, swamped by extra high tides and subjected to wide night-temperature swings in the last couple-three weeks. Clearly it’s desperate to survive – like it always has so far in the toughest spot. Fingers crossed. There may be a new crop of apples yet for the birds…

What’s catching the light in your garden?