It’s too easy to lose sight of the garden at this time of year. It’s freezing cold; we’ve gone indoors; we’re focused on the holidays. But what I realized the other day, when I took a walk through the garden is that this might be the very best time to really see the garden clearly – and not just because of the transparency of defoliation. Red and green might be the iconic colors of December but gardeners and nature lovers see a whole range of hues in our field of vision. December is rendered in quiet earth-tones like verdigris, ochre, charcoal, pewter, Payne’s grey and raw umber as well as about a million different shades of deep green, and gem-like crimsons. Most of December’s colors fill the background at other times of year – barely visible for being easily overlooked, but they are the foreground now. And that inside-out color shift seems to turn all of the other colors on the wheel into precious pigments of our imagination.

I can mentally picture the garden – my own especially – as I’d like it to be in all seasons, much more easily now than when it’s filled with summer and fall colors – but while I can still remember them; and before the garden is beautified by snow’s contrast or full of the distraction of spring’s hopes. And the ideas flow even more freely as I walk around Blithewold where I can plainly see the plants and colors that would make my own December garden more complete. And I have this hunch (call me crazy but I get to see these gardens every day so I know whereof I speak) that a garden that is sublime in December is bound to be beautiful the whole year round. I’ll save specific examples for a later post.

Are you looking at your garden right now? What do you see?

For gardeners, this blustery cusp of fall into winter is the true turning of the year – much more real to us than the holiday in January that opens the calendar year. As our gardens cycle now into rest, so do we cycle into reflection. This is our time to look gratefully back on a season rich and bright enough to sustain us through a long, dark winter. And, of course, the official Thanksgiving holiday is a perfect excuse (as if we need one) to celebrate the abundance of the passing season and share it with generous abandon.

It is also the start of a new season at Blithewold. Just as our attention shifts this time of year from deciduous plants to evergreen, we also concede a shift from outside to inside. The mansion is once again lavishly and glitteringly decorated for Christmas, and will be open from November 28 to January 2. (Click here for hours and events. – And don’t forget that the grounds, gardens and greenhouse are open daily, year-round.)

Happy Thanksgiving!

As you all know, this past Tuesday was the Feast of the Presentation of the Prophet Phil. I celebrated and paid homage as usual but I think I might be losing faith in The Groundhog.

The sun was shining in Punxutawney, PA and Phil saw his shadow. According to tradition that means we’ll have 6 more weeks of winter weather. But here in Bristol, it was cloudy that day. If our woodchuck, a lay rodent, had been ceremoniously yanked from his burrow, it wouldn’t have been the sun sending him scurrying back to bed. Not only that, but other signs seem, to me, to be pointing directly at spring’s corner. Just this week the birds  started to sing again – I heard mourning doves this morning – and the late winter, spring-predicting flowers are showing their colors. The sun is high enough to warm the greenhouse and I could swear that the silhouette of the trees has just changed – I think they’ve filled out a little. I prefer to think that spring is right around the corner – my gut says it’s only 6 weeks away.

Do you believe (in) Punxutawney Phil or the other indicators of spring?

I am always blown away by the extravagant abundance surrounding the holidays – even when my family makes the annual decision to “go easy this year”. But it occurs to me that I should really feel accustomed to bonanza. Whether we gardeners grow plants for their flowers, foliage or food, we  are daily blessed by an embarrassment of riches – one I am never the least bit discomfited by.

Like many of you, I am taking a little time at the turn of the year – and the decade – to organize pictures and take a reassessing look back at the whole season. In a series of New Year posts I’ll list a Top Nine plants for 2009. I might even do a Top Ten for the whole decade (with Gail’s help) in order to list a few plants that have really stood the test. And unless I get distracted by other shiny topics, I’ll take a good look at whatever didn’t work so well in the gardens too. In the meantime though, while I do some more sorting, here is a year in pictures of extravagant abundance from all over Blithewold (in order from January to December, 2009):

Gail and I want to thank everyone who helped make these gardens and grounds so richly abundant and beautiful this year. Some of you know who you are – Fred and Dan, Lilah and Cathy, Julie, everyone in the house, all of the volunteers. Blithewold members, supporters and visitors, we couldn’t do it without any of you either. (And what would be the point?) Thanks go also to Blithewold’s virtual visitors. – I couldn’t write this without you. (Fellow bloggers, I have recently updated my blogroll – if you’re not on it and would like to be, please let me know.)

Are you reveling in or reviewing a year’s worth of your garden’s abundance too? If you have posted pictures, please send along a link!

This weekend’s blizzard dropped an immeasurable foot or two of snow at Blithewold and sculpted it in great drifts and wavelets. No need for dreaming (though the song is spinning endlessly in my head) because we’ve got the real deal – more white stuff than we’ve had all at once in a while and it looks like it will stick around for the week. With any luck, Christmas will be just like the ones we used to know.

And the darkest day is so brilliantly bright! Today the sun stands still before it begins it’s optimistic climb back north to June. You probably already know that this is my favorite holiday – or second favorite anyway, after Groundhog’s Day. I always like to think that the shift away from the shortest day will be immediately noticeable even if the coldest day is still a month or two away. (-Relatively warm ocean temperatures traditionally keep any day in December from being the very coldest – although with this wind, it feels like it’s right down there.) So I’m wearing my sunglasses and celebrating the solstice: I’m listening to the carols of ice sliding off the greenhouse panes; I’ve looked for tracks in the snow; and I’m going to wrap my mind around the toasty-warm promises of spring and summer. How do you celebrate the solstice?

Happy Holidays everyone!