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?

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?

Given that I lost patience with winter way back in December, I’m pretty excited to notice that despite weekly storms and another overnight icing of a wintery mix, spring is starting to win the tug of war. When the sun is out – and the wind isn’t blowing a gale – it’s warm enough to bask a little. Everything is dripping, the ground is squishy, and the birds are singing love songs. Looks at least partly springy out to me. I know I’m probably jumping the gun a little because March is usually disappointingly March-like but I can’t help it. I’m just so ready to see spring in the smallest signs.

The biggest sign of spring is easy enough to see – and feel: the sun is finally high enough in the sky that the greenhouse is getting cooking. By mid-morning on a sunny day over the last couple of weeks it has become so deliciously summer-like in there we have had to strip off sweaters and scarves and squint or put on sunglasses. The plants are responding to the extra light and heat by outgrowing containers, blooming away, and becoming susceptible to infestations. – Aphids and whitefly seem to love spring as much as I do. So we and a handful of volunteers have started taking sunny opportunities to keep up with the grooming and leaf washing. (We’ll try to rotate all the garden volunteers in for a vitamin-D fix.) I have followed the sunbeams around my house to do the same thing… And today Gail and I started emptying benches to make room for more plants because we’ll start some seeds this week. If that isn’t a sure sign of spring, I don’t know what is.

Missing February bloom day is my excuse for posting some gratuitous sunny greenhouse flowers (clockwise from top left): Everyone thinks this camellia (unnamed) is a double hibiscus – it’s that tropical looking. Amaryllis ‘Zombie’ has been on a blooming rampage since December. The blue Marguerite (Felicia amelloides ‘Variegata’) is also unstoppable, and completely unbothered by insects. And even though the Spanish shawl (Centradenia floribunda) will quit blooming by summer it’s worth every inch of its bench space for the flowers now.

Is it partly springy in your garden yet? Are your houseplants going nuts? When will you start your first seeds?

Cupid’s dart hit a bull’s-eye this morning. Another snowfall – a sugar dusting this time – helped me realize something that I’ve known all along without knowing it. I am capable of becoming every bit as attached to places as I am to people. It’s so obvious: I am in love. Blithewold, will you be my Valentine?

Happy Valentine’s Day!

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?