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?

I don’t know if all of our recent focus on potentially devastating weather is the cause of it, but this week I found myself particularly interested in one of the most easy-come/easy-go plants in our gardens. Hibiscus trionum has been sowing itself here for probably ever; I’ve diligently cautioned the volunteers to not weed out the volunteers and I’ve always vaguely appreciated the way it pops up, weaves, and sprawls sort of awkwardly through other plants. But I never really noticed it. I didn’t commit its name to memory until recently and only learned its common names and trademark trait when I googled it just now.

Venice mallow or flower-of-an-hour opens for a short time on sunny days like a fair-weather friend. They’re as ephemeral as it gets but there are plenty of buds for a summer-full of days, which is probably why I never noticed them come and go so quickly. And the seedheads are every bit as pretty – fuzzy, striped bright green puffs that turn nut-brown and open up as the seeds ripen. The plant, with its sprawling 2-3′ weave, generally plays really well with others (though the picture below shows it right smack in the middle of a Helichrysum in the North Garden. Not that I mind.)

My RHS A-Z encyclopedia lists its region of origin as “uncertain” and the internet isn’t any more help: evidently it’s happy to grow all over the world. Although it has a typical hibiscus-y tropical-looking flower, this one doesn’t seem as curiously out of context here as some of the larger flowered species do. Just because it’s happy everywhere (in full sun and whatever kind of soil) doesn’t mean that it’s easy to find to buy. According to my brief search, Annie’s Annuals sells plants and Chiltern sells the seeds. This is more of a passalong plant. Take a close look around friends’ gardens and beg. No doubt they’ll have a few seeds to spare.

Do you have flower-of-an-hour in your garden? Have you noticed and loved it all along?

Blithewold is chock-a-block full of spring and it just keeps getting better – and by better, I mean springier by the minute. And because the weather is forecast to stay on the cool side, the daffs – and tulips when they open – should linger even longer. (That’s the silver lining around a chilly spring. Leave it to me to find the upside, right?)

We have taken every rainy-day opportunity to catch up on transplanting seedlings; and we’ve starting haunting our favorite nurseries and wholesalers, so the greenhouse is full to brimming. And the gardens and grounds are full too – full of daffodils, trout lily (Erythronium), mayapple (Podophyllum peltatum), grape hyacinth (Muscari), scilla, periwinkle (Vinca), tulips (opening next week by the looks of them), all sorts of trees in full flower (from the showy to the invisible), – and people! There’s nothing we like better than seeing the grounds full of people out for a eye-full, nose-full, ear-full of spring and a whole bunch of family fun. And interestingly, the only place on the property that starts to feel a little cozy, is the greenhouse. (Of course that’s just as it should be.)

Click on pictures for a larger view (did I take one of you or your kiddos?) or hover over for captions.

Is your garden full-swing into spring? Is your house filling up with seedlings? Have you started haunting your favorite nurseries yet?

- Or they would be if it ever stopped snowing and the sun came out. Truth be told, the sun was out yesterday and the vents in the propagation house opened for the first time all winter. And even though we haven’t seen a whole lot of sun lately, there’s new growth (and growths apparently – this grapefruit has scale, eeeu) on plants that have been sitting like lumps since summer – resting might be a nicer way of putting it. Even Gail and I are aware that the sun is higher in the sky and out for just a titch longer everyday. We’re not actively growing (or are at least we’re trying not to… damn girl-scout cookies…) but we are finally finalizing the seed orders and building enthusiasm for much brighter days ahead.

As I was filling out order forms this year it occurred to me that our methods must be very old-school compared to other gardeners’. We don’t phone in our orders and we don’t order on-line. We fill out the sheets, which are becoming harder to find inside the catalogs, write checks and send them via snail mail – often in our own envelopes. We have also only just started to think seriously about using a spreadsheets to keep track of all the plants we grow. How behind the times are we? How do you place and keep track of your orders?

I can’t remember if the honor of choosing Blithewold’s sweet peas was conferred on me or if I grabbed it like a greedy toddler (“Mine!”) but it’s one of those tasks that I enjoy so much it doesn’t feel like work. It reminds me of those years in Seattle when I made special trips to the Pike Place Market in June. I would walk the length at least twice in order to drink in the scent of thousands of sweet peas and choose the very best bouquet from among a dozen or so vendors. My handful of sweet peas had to have a good balance of dark colors, picotees, bi-colors, and pastels and at least a few rare apricot or orange blossoms to give it some pop. And it had to be at least $.50 cheaper than the priciest bunch.

Now I hem and haw over our seed order the same way. There must be a good balance of colors, stripes, picotees, etc; and a decent bargain in terms of number of seeds per packet, shipping rate, etc. I also feel I owe it to our visitors to make sure we have the best varieties: the newest and most interesting as well as the old favorites with the longest stems, biggest blossoms, truest color, and/or highest scent. I research availability, cross reference sources for price and try very hard to narrow my selection down to what might actually fit on the fence.

This year my search revolved around finding my Holy Grail. Back in 2007 I fell for one called ‘Nimbus’ that Sweet Pea Gardens hasn’t offered since. After failing last year to convince Unwins to change their policy about selling seeds to US customers, I thought I had given up. But ‘Nimbus’ will be on our order this year from another source, Enchanting Sweet Peas in CA. Their packets only contain 10 seeds, but their shipping cost is minimal and they offer price breaks the more varieties you order. Such a deal.

Now comes the hard part: choosing between sweet peas we’ve grown and loved, and new temptations. ‘Oban Bay’ I know is a gorgeous pale blue but could ‘Charlies Angel’, another pale blue one, possibly be prettier? Would our visitors appreciate as I would seeing the two varieties “trialed” together perhaps along with another pale favorite like ‘Blue Celeste’ or ‘Chatsworth’? Decisions, decisions… But it’s a difficulty worth savoring and one that, unlike any kind of forced choice made on a sinking boat or in a damaged country, reminds me how fortunate I am.

When you choose seeds do you opt for new varieties, familiar ones, or a bit of both? Do you savor the decision making process or tear your hair out a little? ‘Fess up, do you ever order more than you have room for?