I never much liked the idea that the world might end today. It’s so much better that it’s simply the start of a whole new cycle. Just like every other day that rolls into another in a constant unending loop. But I’m all for acknowledging the passage of time every so often. In a way it makes sense here at Blithewold to mark the new year on January first like everyone else. Even though the grounds remain open, our season officially wraps up when the mansion closes for the winter. But as a gardener, I’m inclined to celebrate the new year on the Winter Solstice instead. The day the sun sets to climb a little higher the next. We might have a few long, quiet, cold months ahead before the sun breaks out over the bamboo and before we see much evidence of renewal but, like every other day of the year, there are signs pointing to the next.

Granted, right now it’s hard to tell if some of the signs I’m seeing are renewal or last gasps. Some are simply promises, like the cottony seeds of Anemone tomentosa ‘Robustissima’. I suspect that the Daphne transatlantica ‘Summer Ice’ just doesn’t know when to quit but doesn’t it masquerade beautifully as a sign of spring? And the Helleborus foetidus blooming out of sequence seems to be celebrating its new year a couple months early. Why not?

Are you celebrating the new year, a new cycle, and a new era today too?

It seems impossible to speak or think about anything else right now. The news is too full of horrific loss and our hearts are too broken. I won’t claim to have a clue about how to fix anything – as if there is a fix – but I know I’m not alone in believing in the healing power of nature. In cathartic walks in the rain. In the deep inhale of a favorite fragrance. In a handful of potting soil. In the obvious preciousness of all life.

Are you finding solace? Where?

Right at the cusp of a season full of overwhelming delights, I discovered a teeny-tiny one. It’s a very small thing but for me, it was kind of huge. Ever since I found out that Aspidistra elatior, the famously boring Victorian houseplant, also known as cast-iron plant, has a flower, I’ve wanted to see it for myself. But I was never sure of the timing, and most days poor Uncle is way off my radar. It hardly ever even wants watering, for goodness sake. So just try to imagine the moment when I went to evict a pair from their pots (to use the containers in a Christmas display), and noticed the flowers! Picture me, all alone in the greenhouse, doing a little dance.

The flowers, right at soil level and mostly such a dark purple they practically match the soil, are completely incognito. Also since they open so close to the surface, the flower cups were full of bits of soil and perlite. It’s really no wonder I’ve been missing them all these years. But they’re so pretty. And while you might think that I’d leave them be and find a different pair of pots, I wanted a closer look at their full structure. (Click on pictures for a closer look yourself.)

I understand that this particular delight might not provide the same kind of thrill for anyone else but if you happen to visit the greenhouse – or for that matter wherever your travels take you throughout the holidays, I offer you the challenge of finding at least one small surprise to be delighted by. Maybe it will be these very same flowers…

Any holiday or page in a book set aside for expressions of gratitude is just the best thing ever. So I thought I should celebrate this Thanksgiving by at least attempting to acknowledge the the community of amazing people who make Blithewold Blithewold — everyone who keep this place so afloat that it practically flies. Most of them are volunteers.

The garden volunteers always get the lion’s share of my own personal thanks because they make my job infinitely easier and tons of fun, and the gardens infinitely more beautiful than they otherwise would be. (Without them Gail and I might still be trying to get June’s plants in the ground.) But an even greater number of volunteers work in the house, and more this season than any other. Without them we’d have to keep the doors to the mansion locked. That would be a real shame because thousands of visitors would miss seeing the entire house decorated – by volunteers – to illustrate Marjorie’s Grand Tour, Christmas-style. Aside from decorators, we rely on volunteer admission takers, shop keepers, raffle ticket sellers, phone answerers, tea makers and servers, and docents who immerse themselves in the history of the family and the house in order to better tell the story to visitors. There is even another group of volunteers working in the archives who dive in to Blithewold’s history head first. Without them none of us would have a clue how fascinating the family was. In fact, bits and bobs from the collection, things that Marjorie saved from her travels in Europe, are on display in every room.

I haven’t come close to mentioning everyone (the board of directors, committee members, interns, staff, — members, visitors, blog readers!) but as I go through Thanksgiving – and probably beyond — I’ll remember who I’ve left out. I just wanted to pass along how grateful I am to be a part of this community, doing work that I find wildly interesting. It doesn’t get any better.

Deepest thanks to all. And Happy Thanksgiving!

You might (or might not) remember that a year and a half ago, a few members of Blithewold’s staff were invited to be in Martha Stewart’s Gardening Show studio audience. It was a hoot to sit in those bleachers watching the goings on of (part of) an empire and I have little memory anymore of what it felt like to drive to NYC in the wee hours of a should-be-sleeping-in morning. But I do still have some of the swag she gave away. By far the best thing in the tubtrug full of stuff was a book by her (magazine’s) gardening editorial director. Tomorrow’s Garden: Design and Inspiration for a New Age of Sustainable Gardening by Stephen Orr is full of gorgeous photos (taken by Orr) of inspiring modern gardens all over the country that illustrate a full spectrum of garden-with-nature possibilities. Along with telling his own garden’s story, he interviewed the other gardens’ gardeners on how their designs were created and maintained. And it’s generously peppered with plant lists and tips. The only beef I have with the book is that so many of the designs and ideas appeal to me that I’m no closer to deciding what to do in my own garden.

But it’s time for another look through it because this the time of year, when the season’s successes and problems are still fresh in my mind, is when I do my best thinking about garden design. Just this week, even in the soggy aftermath of the storm, Gail and I worked on a new vision for the moongate bed under the Sophora outside of the Rose Garden. That bed, which is our best example of dry shady conditions, has grown so well it had finally become almost overgrown. The plants we chose for that garden, things like epimedium, liriope, ginger, carex, hosta and tricyrtis, almost all going on 5 years old now, have proven themselves easily sustainable, with minimal supplemental watering during drought, and were finally in need of redistribution to (re)create a more aesthetically pleasing design. Since this is the best time to move epimedium (because it blooms so early in spring) and because this is when our brains are ready for that sort of exercise, we spent yesterday playing musical perennials. (Now that I’ve had a little practice again, I might be ready to make some decisions at home…)

If you are raring for inspiration the way I always am right about now, I say buy the book. –But wouldn’t it be even better to meet the author and hear his freshest thoughts on the subject? I’m so excited that Stephen Orr will be speaking at Blithewold’s annual Garden Design Luncheon next Thursday, November 8, 10am-2pm. A few (a very few) tickets are still available so register here asap. (Our fingers are crossed that his books will arrive in time from storm ravaged New York… If you already have a copy, bring it with you for him to sign.)