Waiting for the Chiltern seed order – which included a dozen varieties of sweet peas – to arrive tested our faith (and taught me a little lesson about putting so many precious eggs in one basket). But Gail and I remained as optimistic as gardeners, and didn’t the package finally land in our mailbox like a little miracle the day after we opened up bench space! We always sow the sweet peas first, during the last week or two of February so that they’ll be sturdy enough to set outside and plant by the last week in April.

Every year I worry all over again that the seeds I sow won’t germinate (and that’s partly why I prefer Beverly, one of the Rockettes, to do it – that, and I love her company). It just seems so unlikely that a whole blooming plant would ever spring from such a tiny package – even if it’s as fat and perfect as these sweet pea seeds – with or without help from me.

Gail and I started some others with the reputation of taking an age to germinate and a few like corydalis and primroses that need alternating weeks in the fridge and out of it. — It’s no wonder I doubt seeds when there’s trickery involved… But unless the seeds are no longer living – some are viable for only a short time after ripening while others can remain dormant indefinitely – they’re hardwired to grow soon(ish) after we trip their trigger by tucking them into moist soil. At least that’s what I remind myself around this time every year. All will be well.

Spring requires the same leap of faith. That buds will stretch into flowers, like the witch hazels already did, and that the birds will sing. A more confident friend reassured me this morning that I didn’t hallucinate hearing a red-winged blackbird’s call. It is, in fact, time for them to come back. Like clockwork. So despite a chill wind again from the north and snow in the forecast, spring is on its way. — Isn’t it?

Maybe it has something to do with the spareness of the January landscape (particularly when it’s a clean white and sky-blue); or maybe it’s because there’s little to distract us outside when the wind is blowing a gale and the temperature is toe nippingly frigid; or maybe because we’re still in a New Year’s resolution frame of mind; or maybe for all of those reasons combined and a few more I haven’t thought of, January seems to be the time to focus on getting organized. Time to clear the physical and mental clutter of the year (or years as the case may be) and start fresh.

Gail and I usually spend the month focused on organizing our seed orders and making wish lists and plans for the gardens. But this year we’re also tackling our work space in a way that we haven’t gotten to in recent years. Not to this extent anyway. In the past we (mostly Gail) have gone through the closet, cleared accumulated paperwork off flat surfaces and even made attempts at tidying the cellar. That in particular seemed an impossible task to both of us. (Mostly me.) I wish I had before pictures because it was pretty scary down there with debris that had become so elderly we (I) began to think it must be part of the archival collection. Broken hoses, soil turned to dust, endless mismatched trays, buckets, old labels for long dead plants, and a lattice work of cobwebs, enormous black crevice-dwelling spiders, the occasional bat, and a frog… All (aside from the critters but including our stored dahlia tubers) in great jumbles on a couple of rickety old benches and the floor.

Huge thanks go to Fred, Dan, and Nick who spent part of last week down there clearing out and setting up brilliant, super sturdy shelves along each wall. Suddenly we have a whole new uncluttered, uncreepy, and perfectly functional cellar storage area. A place for everything and everything in its place, as my grandmother used to say. It’s twice the size it was before, easy. Applause, applause!

That frees us up to rethink how we organize the potting shed, which has to function as our office, a volunteer break room, as well as our soil mixing, potting up, and seed starting area (what it was originally intended for). Now that we can store more supplies downstairs, we’re giving some thought to dismantling these cubbies (left) to open up the room for a more gracious break table and supplemental work surface. But we’re still on the fence about that – a little sentimental about the cubbies because they’re so much a part of the building’s antique charm. But whatever we decide, it’s beginning to feel like a New Year in here already.

Have you turned inward too to organize and tidy up this winter? (Gail has been working on her own cellar and I’ve been trying to reshelve mental clutter…)

Why buy something when you can make it? Especially when you can make it so much more interesting and unique? Our wreath classes sell out every year to people who want to hang something on their front door that will be unlike anyone else’s. A handmade wreath is as special as a snowflake. And so much prettier than anything store-bought.

The greens this year came almost exclusively from Blithewold trees (all but the balsam) and were an unusual assortment that included Moss cypress (Chamaecyparis picifera ‘Squarrosa’), Hinoki cypress (C. obtusa), yew (Taxus baccata), and Japanese umbrella pine (Sciadopitys verticillata). And the method we teach is easy – just wind a continuous loop of wire (we use 22 gauge florist wire) around the frame attaching small bundles of greens as you go. All in the same direction, covering the stems bundle by bundle until the last stems tuck under the first. Piece of cake!

The trick is finding greens. If you don’t have an interesting assortment in your own garden, you might consider that as you peruse the plant catalogs this winter and shop the nurseries next spring. In the meantime, do not be tempted to pick anything without permission, no matter where you are. Rhode Island actually has a Christmas Greens Law (State of R.I. & Providence Plantations, Chapter 15, General Laws 1956, 2-15-12 through 2-15-17) prohibiting picking anything on state property. (For a list of protected plants, click here.)  And for goodness sake, don’t use bittersweet berries because you’ll end up with that junk coming up in walkway and foundation cracks. If you or your generous neighbors don’t have evergreens in need of a trim, buy some from your favorite local nursery. (We always buy balsam for its Christmasy fragrance and because it’s stiff enough to use a backbone for each otherwise floppy bundle.) Even if you have to spend a little to make your wreath, it will be more amazing and special than anything mass produced by strangers. And if you’re like me and not particularly crafty on a daily basis, you might find that it’s also a great way to stretch your creative muscles and generate ideas for what else can be made for Christmas rather than bought.

Do you make your own wreaths or roping? How about Christmas gifts? Would you be willing to share your ideas and/or methods? (I’m still casting around for what to make this year as gifts – I can’t do terrariums again…)

Everybody has a different cue for letting ourselves admit that it’s finally spring. For some of us (me), spring officially begins when we sow the sweet peas (back around President’s Day). Others might notice spring for the first time when the forsythia blooms its head off, or when we have that first t-shirt-weather day or when the calendar says it’s so.

For some, it’s all about daffodils and Daffodil Days here at Blithewold. Well, a lot of them (dare I say “most”?) are open and we’re opening for the season starting Sunday, so no one can deny that it’s really truly spring now. The daffodils should continue to be in peak into next week. They love these cooler temperatures.

We’ve been hustling to get ready and have had an extra spring in our step because of opening two weeks ahead of schedule to better match our timing with Nature’s. We’ve fluffed and we’ve puffed and from here on in it’s a work in progress. Like any real garden, ours are in perennial transition and change by the day. Every year we focus attention on a particular garden: this year the North Garden will look quite different from years past. We’re adjusting to a new design that should make the space more welcoming to visitors, and we’ll be in there planting and rearranging every chance we get.

Even if you come just to see the daffodils, don’t miss the Rock Garden. This is the start of its favorite season. And you can’t miss the Rose Garden unless you have your eyes closed coming out of the Visitor’s Center. Open ‘em up. That garden will just keep looking more and more glorious as days go by.

So stick around. Visit as often as you possibly can and celebrate a whole new season by enjoying every bloom of it.

Nature has her own ways of doing things and her own timing. There’s no predicting it. — It hadn’t occurred to us last August when we ordered bulbs that squirrels would be acorn deprived and tulip-hungry this year. We had no idea after so many years mouse-free in the greenhouse that they’d be back. And we had no way of knowing when setting the date for Daffodil Days last year that they might bloom extra-early this year. Nature keeps us on our toes and all we can do is go with the flow and enjoy the ride.

There’s no fighting the likelihood of an early spring (despite another dusting of snow) so we’re going with it and rescheduling our celebrations to (hopefully) more closely match Nature’s timing. We will hustle to be open for the season and Daffodil Days starting April 1.

As for this being the year of the rodent here at Blithewold, all we can do is roll with the punches and get smarter. We’ve ordered extra spring bloomers to fill in any tulip-shaped gaps. (The squirrels didn’t eat them all so we’ll be sure to spray or dust the survivors with deer repellent.) And we’re doing our darnedest to keep the mice out of the seeds by covering the seedling trays with weighted upside-down trays. Fingers crossed. And I’m sorry to say it but because we can’t grow the gardens we’re known for without these plants, we have also brought out the big guns: poison bait. No dogs allowed in the greenhouse until further notice. (And after that, by invitation only, as per usual.)

When change is good it’s easy to adapt to it. Assistant grounds manager, Dan Christina has joined Dick in managing the vegetable garden. He has drawn a beautiful plan, dug trenches for the asparagus that Dick has been asking for forever, started working on a brilliant array of staking methods and support structures, and will help keep us all to a schedule of extra-productive succession planting and harvests. We’re pretty excited.

Any changes, welcome or not, in your garden? Will you have to hustle to be ready for an early spring too?