The birds are singing, the Mt. Aso pussywillow (Salix chaenomeloides ‘Mt. Aso’) is coloring buds, crocus are emerging, and it feels for all the world like early-spring outside. Given that we really ought to still be tucked into winter, it would be a little premature to start cutting the garden back quite yet. But unless winter suddenly shows up in the next few Groundhog’s Day weeks, we will be out cutting the gardens back earlier than usual. It’s high time to take a tool inventory and sharpen a few things (and in our case, replace a few) to get ready.

Almost exactly a year ago I did a post on how-to sharpen pruners and I’m sorry to have to print a total retraction now. I had taken a few lessons from my husband (who I reported as having a keen interest in anything at least as sharp as my wit) and what he taught made perfect sense to me. I recommended flattening the flat side of the blade of and touching up the bevel.

Alas flattening the flat side wasn’t a great idea – particularly for the grape shears we use for deadheading. Over the course of the summer, snip after snip seized up, refusing to close and ever snip again. The garden volunteers, quite rightly, wanted my head on a platter. It was that frustrating.

Below is a video produced by DMT, the makers of the diamond sharpeners we use. In it you’ll see that the correct way to sharpen a bypass pruner is to run the file only along the bevel from the inside out, pushing towards the edge rather than away from it. (Away strokes raise a burr.) Check their website for more videos on how to sharpen snips, scissors, knives, etc.

My fingers are crossed that no one ruined any good tools by following my bum advice. I have some hope because the pruners I use daily never seized up or failed to cut properly. And luckily our Felcos are still working properly. (I have deleted the erroneous post from our archives.)

Have you been tending to your tools, getting ready for a spring that might be here before we know it? Do you have any advice – or admonitions – to share?

The other day Gail brought in an old book, Designing with Plants by the Dutch designer Piet Oudolf and Noël Kingsbury. As I flipped through it, a little lightbulb blinked. Oudolf says the best way to approach garden design is to consider the plant’s – or flowers’ – form first, then its leaves, and color dead last. I’m pretty sure my mind usually puzzles with design using the exact opposite sequence. Color first with leaves and form to follow. And I’ve been wondering why some of the garden jigsaws have been so difficult to solve.*

This time of year it’s a no brainer. Of course form and structure are more important than color. Color went a while ago; form can last longer. – I have to admit having a little ah-ha about why seedheads are so integral to Oudolf’s designs. (They’re not just about feeding the birds.) But at least lately I’ve been seeing the bones everywhere without needing the prompt, and wishing my own garden looked better naked.

I will also admit to you that I think I am in danger of being too obsessed with filling my garden with evergreens (not that I have many yet.) They definitely give the garden a certain winter weight, and they provide a lovely foil for the deciduous trees and shrubs whose naked form we might want to spotlight. But it’s exactly those plants that I think I have been in danger of forgetting about. I get all caught up in flower color and leaf shape and feel downright lucky if a plant’s winter form ends up being lovely too. Maybe this year I’ll put that requirement a little closer to the top of the list.

*Gail says we’ve had form in mind all along. True. But I hope that consciously making it the priority will be just the shift I need to get in gear and extra excited about planning this year’s gardens.

Are you finding any fresh inspiration or new ways of thinking about the garden this winter?

Last week I had the great pleasure of speaking with the author/photographer of some of my all-time favorite garden books. Ken Druse, who wrote Planthropology and Making More Plants among about a bazillion others, called – while a raging river ran through his garden – to quiz me about Blithwold’s Rose Garden and he recorded our conversation for his podcast, Real Dirt. Those who know me, know that I am a reluctant (read terrified) public speaker: when I have something to say, I’d rather write it down. But Ken, who is effortlessly articulate in print and voice, put me at ease and our few minutes were up before I even knew it. I only wish I had said…

Most of you are already familiar with our Rose Garden, so feel free to pass by the rest of this post. But for anyone who might be visiting for the first time via Real Dirt, allow me to fill in some of my gaffs gaps.

Ken intended to ask about how we prepare the Rose Garden for winter and in case he calls back to get the scoop, I’ll hold off on those details for now. We got instantly sidetracked (my doing) by compost instead. The Rose Garden was compacted from years of tromping through it to deadhead and rake leaves so we turned about 3″ of compost in to the soil, which improved the drainage immensely. I also want to say that while I’m perversely pleased that I never mentioned the word “sustainable” I feel I should do so here. Roses, unless you plant your neighborhood’s natives, are inherently difficult. They are heavy feeders, need tons of water, and a lot of gardeners have gotten hooked on spraying regimes to keep them fungus and pest-free. By filling in the garden’s gaps with bulbs, annuals, perennials and shrubs, and refusing to spray, we not only encourage beneficial wildlife but the garden stays colorful even when the roses start to look terrible. Which incidentally, to bring it back around, they haven’t – ever since we amended the soil and installed irrigation. I like to say that our Rose Garden is as-sustainable-as-possible-under-the-circumstances.

I also didn’t mention “Knock-Out” roses among my list of favorites because they’re not on it (though we do have a few in and out of that garden.) To give them their due, Knock-Outs are tough-as-nails and need very little in the way of babying but they lack the grace and charm of the roses that are on my list. I mentioned Rosa ‘Champlain’ but forgot to say that I really love how its deep-green foliage turns burgundy/bronze towards winter. I tried again to take a picture of Rosa ‘Hot Cocoa’ and the color simply defies my lens. It is redder here (and maybe because of the cooler nights lately) than the coppery-brown it can be. And I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but little Rosa chinensis ‘Viridiflora’ is blooming its heart out right now. But then, I’ll take weird over knock-out any day.

I want to thank Ken again for his kindness to me and for speaking so generously about Blithewold – especially while his own garden was being savagely ravaged by both Irene and Lee. (I’d have been too distracted for any words at all…) And thank you for listening/reading. Have you filled the gaps between your roses too?

The other day when Fred and Dan had the ladder out they invited me up on the north porch roof for a look at the North Garden. I’m a little bit scared of heights and ladders but I would never pass on a chance to see any of our gardens from a fresh perspective.

It’s ironic that even though we tend to draw out garden plans as if from a bird’s eye view (do you do that too?), we rarely get to see it that way as it grows. From up there the tapestry of our intentions is fully revealed. I could also more easily see the quiet places and the gaps in the patterns of colors and textures than when I stand right in front of them. (Knock wood, there were no actual gaps. – Sometimes by this time we’ve had to contend with the disappointment of a tired plant or two or ten…) But even my critical eye thought it looked so pretty I wished everyone could see it that way. And of course, it is possible to see that garden from a little ways back and a tiny bit above – from the north porch steps and railing. It’s actually clear from there that it was – and is – designed to be enjoyed from exactly that spot. (Click on pictures for a better view.)

And if you can’t get above your garden to really see it again the next best thing is to go down low. Yesterday I looked up from a weeding crouch within the display garden and was suddenly amazed at the size of the plants and the beauty of the combinations. It’s not that I can’t see and appreciate the garden it from 5′ or so off the ground but I had sort of stopped noticing, if you know what I mean. But then it is also time for me to go on vacation… It wasn’t until I saw Gail’s reaction to the gardens when she got back from her vacation that I realized again just how necessary time away is at this time of year: I had worked for a while in the Rose Garden on Monday and it barely registered that all of the roses still have healthy leaves AND they are in full June-like bloom again! (It’s July!) Thank goodness Gail came back to point that out. And now it’s my turn. I’m off to gain some even fresher perspective and hope to see you back here too in a couple of weeks.

Are you still noticing your garden’s gorgeousness?

It may be impolitic to admit this but I haven’t been the biggest fan of spring flower shows in a long time. Back when my garden existed only as an unrequited dream in my head, I would go to the show every year as a special treat. I’d soak up the smells, the colors and endless inspiration from gardeners able to follow their passion. It didn’t even occur to me to be bothered by the oddness of plants forced out of all reasonable sequence. The shows’ magic just worked on me.

Now that my garden(s) are for real, I have to make an effort to even attend the shows. When I’m there I find myself overwhelmed imagining the amount of effort it takes the designers to set up their displays; I cringe at delphinium and foxglove blooming with the tulips and azaleas; and sadly, I lose the magic.

This year I really tried to walk into the RI Flower and Garden show with a better attitude. – And am happy to report that it worked. I thoroughly enjoyed the creativity and loveliness of the garden club competitions and horticultural entries, and rather than cringing at the forced plants in the display gardens, I enjoyed them for their odd timing. Amelachiers and fringe trees in bloom now! – Heaven. I’ve never seen nicotiana forced before. Brilliant. My favorite garden displays are always the ones that seem the most naturalistic and this time there were several winners for me in that category, which gave me renewed hope for the current trends towards native plants and gardening for the wildlife. Hope is a wonderful thing.

And then there were the lectures. When I was first going to shows I never attended the lectures and now I wonder why not? They’re the best part! Yesterday we heard Scott LaFleur from Garden in the Woods speak on native plants for pollinators. Even though that’s right up our alley these days, I took pages of notes. And I’m desperate now for a sassafras in my yard – certainly not because compounds from its roots were used to make Ecstasy (interesting fact.) but because it’s a host for butterflies I’ve never seen before. And then we heard Steve Aiken from Fine Gardening speak on low-care plants – or as he put it, plants he hasn’t killed yet. Gail and I found ourselves nodding in agreement and laughing along with every selection.

All in all it was a worthwhile adventure – although the marketplace was disappointing. We had expected to fill in some blanks in our seed orders but, alas, the seed booths were were hoping for were not there this year.

Do you usually go to spring flower shows? Why or why not?