Another heavy, wet snow is coming at us sideways today. I don’t mean to whine (yes I do!) but we’ve had just about enough of that this winter. And it has taken its toll all over the property. The other day I took a walk through our bamboo grove (yellow groove – Phyllostachys aureosulcata). It usually pops back up after a snowfall. Not this year. Each snowfall landed like another ton of bricks. But I’m inclined to find the damage beautiful – like an art installation – because I know the grove will recover. The broken culms will have to be cut out, and the grove roped off while new shoots rise in May and June, but soon enough – maybe even by this summer, it will be hard to tell it was ever so smashed. (Click on pictures for a bigger view.)

Did winter make any sculptures in your garden?

As snowstorms go, this – Nemo, the Blizzard of 2013 – wasn’t a pretty one. Though it was pretty spectacular in some ways… The crazy blue flashes of lightning were pretty scary. Power outages made a lot of our houses pretty chilly. But the snow itself – heavy, wet and icy – and the damage it caused, was really pretty ugly.

Here at Blithewold, about 45 trees were badly damaged and at least 7 are total losses. The grounds are a mess of broken limbs — I would caution against taking a walk here to see for yourself at least until Fred, Dan, and Nick have had a chance to clear trees of dangerous hangers. (They’re called widow-makers for a reason.)

Click on pictures for bigger view and captions.

But It was a relief this morning to see how some of the flattened shrubs and weighted limbs had popped back up after yesterday’s rainy thaw. I know first hand the temptation of knocking heavy snow off tree limbs and shrubs but generally it’s better to let nature handle that. By clearing limbs ourselves, we risk doing the plants – and ourselves – greater injury. That said, if another round of snow had been expected, then gently – so gently!- sweeping what you could off limbs to at least lighten the load would be worth a try. (I’m trying to train myself to think that whatever doesn’t break them makes them stronger.) The pictures below are of our huge chestnut rose (Rosa roxburghii) flattened (taken Sunday) and today after it had bounced back. Its limbs were wired after Hurricane Bob flattened it in 1991.

The gardens will be fine, although here and there – mostly in the Rock Garden – we’ll have to reposition shade lovers out of newly sunny spots. And even though Bristol lost power for days, the plants in the greenhouse were completely safe and warm. This was exactly the storm event that Gail and I used to worry about before the greenhouse generator was installed. It purred like a kitten all the way through and we are beyond grateful.

How was your storm? Pretty or pretty ugly? Did your garden suffer much damage?

I wouldn’t want to alarm anyone who hasn’t been glued to the news but word is we’re in for a “potentially historic” blizzard. I’m just barely old enough to remember the infamous Blizzard of ’78 that buried this part of New England in deep drifts and stranded for days everyone who thought the forecasters were talking Jive. No one wants a repeat of that. Not even close. So Blithewold’s hatches have been battened and we’ve all gone safely (I hope) home to wait it out.

The snow had just started when I took these pictures this morning and it’s been falling steadily – if not heavily – since and it’s a bit breezy. But RI is already under a state of emergency so I guess worse weather than this (which I think already qualifies for pjs, slippers and cocoa) is expected. They’re saying 16-24″ for most of the state. Yikes mikes. I hope everyone in the path of this stays as safe and warm as the plants in the greenhouse look and as I feel right now.

Hurricane (Superstorm, Frankenstorm) Sandy hit others much worse than it hit us. We were very lucky. It wasn’t even as bad as Irene last year when we lost something like 19 trees. Only one came down with this storm that I saw along with a lot of leaves and twigs. But even that was no worse than the average fall bluster and blow. We even still have power. (Oops. Should have knocked wood. As soon as I wrote that the power went out and I’m forced to finish the post by phone.)

One of the most hyped and scary predictions was for an epic tide and storm surge. We did get that, but again, not nearly as disastrously as some. The water had receded by the time I checked the Rock Garden this morning but it was clear that it had been inundated. Everyone talks about how Hurricane Bob (1991) covered the Rock Garden in seaweed and salt marsh hay. There was none of that this time. The garden was covered instead in the top layer of leaf litter from under the junipers. It was inches thick in some places, and higher up on the “little Mt. Hope” slope than I’ve ever seen water rise. I also don’t ever remember seeing so many drowned worms before, which either means my memory is faulty or the garden was under water for longer than ever (in my time) before, which is quite possible since I heard that low tide was as high as a high tide. As far as the health of the plants is concerned, time will tell. But coming this late in the season, when they are regrouping anyway for a winter’s rest, I imagine most will be right as rain come spring.

How did you and your garden come through the storm? (Safe and sound, I hope.)

Yesterday a reporter from one of the local papers called to ask about the daffodils. She wondered when they would bloom; are they early; how long would they last; and what comes next? A very popular barrage of questions for this time of year.

I could tell her – and I’ll tell you – that they’re blooming now and I’ll even go so far as to guess that they’ll probably start peaking next week and continue into our Daffodil Days celebration that starts on the 1st of April. They are early – a good two or three weeks early and there’s no way to know how long they’ll last. Cool temperatures, particularly at night helps prolong the show – next week promises so far to be cooler than this – and we have a good variety of early and late bloomers so unless we’re hit with a heatwave, the show should go on for a few weeks altogether.

She asked what would we DO if the daffodils went by quickly?! Do? Besides enjoying it while it lasts, and trying to keep up, there’s nothing to do. Gardeners know there’s no predicting nature. We might be more dialed in than the average non-gardener but only to the extent that we know – and accept – that anything goes.

So what happens after the daffodils bloom? Everything! Tulips for starters. The reporter also wondered when would be the best time to visit Blithewold? Of course, I’m the wrong person to ask because I think it’s beautiful all the time. But you really can’t go wrong to time a visit for May or June. July and August tend to be hot but lovely. September is really spectacular. October too.

But if you love spring and don’t want to miss it, come soon. It is happening fast this year. So fast that if you picked a spot under a maple, next to a cinnamon fern or the winter hazel you could almost watch the changes as they happen. And try not to miss the other spring ephemerals. Our intern, Tricia spotted the very tiniest: new blooms on the European ginger (Asarum europaeum). Not as spectacular as a daffodil perhaps, but I’d have hated to miss it. The gardens and grounds are open.

Are you making any predictions this year? When will your daffodils bloom? Or have they already?