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?

The plants in the greenhouse are more ambitious than I am. If I possibly could, I would spend the short, dark days of December curled up on the couch. But our plants are making use of what little sunlight is on offer, along with the eternal-spring (relative) warmth of supplemental radiant heat, and actually growing. Go figure. The cuttings we took in September are well-branched and blooming. The ones we took in October and potted up last month have produced three or more sets of leaves. And now they all need pinching to keep their focus on growing more than flowering. And there’s no way I can cut these plants back without turning those beautiful tips into more cuttings. They get full credit for keeping me off the couch.

Taking cuttings of our cuttings is on the list of to-dos every December despite the fact that low light and lower temperatures will make them take longer to root. Some of them might not make it. But from the ones that do, we’ll take more cuttings in the spring. That way, as the plants we already made grow and become pot stressed and unhappy, we’ll have a rotation of fresh plants to take their place if need be. (Though we do often plant even the oldest, woodiest, worst looking plants because they take off like the picture of health once they go in the ground.)

But I can’t let myself go crazy propagating because space is tight in the greenhouse and we don’t need more of everything. We also don’t altogether know what we’ll need because we only have ideas about next year’s gardens so far, not actual plans. That’s for January. I’m confident that we will always plant as many African blue basils as we have, whether it’s a tray-full or 10 trays-full, and Gail and I are both smitten with a new-to-us Salvia called ‘Wendy’s Wish’. (More about that one when I do top 12 for 2012 post.) We also always make a few more heliotrope and assorted cuphea over the course of the winter, but I had to restrain myself from sticking every perfect cutting I pinched. A tray-full will do until we know where we’ll use them next season and how many we’ll ultimately need.

Are you feeling as ambitious as I am this December? Did you take cuttings this fall? Have you been taking cuttings of those cuttings or will you wait until spring?

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…

I think we gardeners are generally pretty good at finding color during a black&white winter but I still always feel like I should stock up before fall’s blaze dims. Even in the half-light of a gray day, oranges and reds, on Japanese maples especially, are so super-saturated right now that their leaves seem to fuse into a solid block of intensity. And I credit the yellow leaves for giving everything that strange glowy tawny tint though I should probably give all the shades of brown their due for that too.

And of course I wouldn’t want to diss the few things still – or starting to bloom. In honor of Garden Bloggers Bloom Day over at May Dreams Gardens (tomorrow), here are a couple of tried and true November bloomers. — I say these are November bloomers but the autumn flowering cherries (Prunus x subhirtella ‘Autumnalis’) in the Rose Garden have been my poster children for December the last few years. Evidently they loved our recent run of Indian Summer days. (Please excuse the blur – it’s impossible to get those tiny flowers to stand still on a windless day let alone a breezy one.)

Along with hording color, we’re also starting to forage for the bits and bobs we like to have on hand for embellishing the wreaths made in our upcoming (sold out!) workshops. Last year nature withheld her usual bounty but this year, not only is she being generous again, but we managed to find some treasures before they were whisked away with the fallen leaves. My only difficulty with task of foraging is having the fortitude to quit when tubtrugs and pockets are full. (I’m just as obsessive when I go to the beach. At least sweetgum seedpods don’t weigh as much as stones…)

Are you taking in Autumn’s last flash? And are you filling your pockets with treasures too?