Oddly enough, in my neck of the woods, the dead of winter is one of the busiest times in my garden year. Sheltering in my ersatz greenhouse aka sunroom, when the snow is lying heavy on the ground (19 inches heavy, and even heavier further south, while I won’t mention Wyoming), I have all the time I need to contemplate the garden and what the coming year will bring. What can be improved, removed or otherwise consigned to the compost heap of history. And my heap is indeed the “Annals of My Garden (and Kitchen)” with the compostable waste both venues generate. But I blather on through memory’s weeds.
Wind has denuded the trees of their vibrant autumn color – the aspens and cottonwoods were breathtakingly yellow this year — and revealed their structural impact on the landscape as well as which branches need pruning or removing. The thick mantle of snow describes the shapes of shrubs and garden ornament making it easier to understand their relationship in the garden frame, and to note what works and what doesn’t. There is a chapter in the aforementioned Annals titled “Notes to Self”. Not always acted upon so often a record of intent.
This year I’ve noted the failures; like the rather nice sumac struggling for dominance too close to a vigorous baptisia. It doesn’t help that the deer enjoy nibbling the sumac’s antler-like branches – so it’ll be transplanted in spring to the fenced patio garden. And the grasses are completely out of control, especially the blue grama ‘Blonde Ambition’, which really has overstepped its confidence. Structurally, its time to tweak the planting not only to ensure better growth but also to restore balance.
My gardens have always focused on the decorative slice of the pie-chart: plenty of perennials, bulbs and delicate groundcovers with shrubs – mostly roses — dotted among them. But my style is due for a change, compelled by climate, short growing seasons, and declining reserves of stamina and strength – my spade-pushing leg now sports a new knee and that has cramped my style. It comes to us in time.
So, trying to look at the garden as though it were for the first time, I see I have much to learn about, for instance, the advantages of massing evergreen shrubs together for their structural impact on the landscape; the way to complement ground-covering swathes of river rock with pockets of sub-alpines that have strong foliage and texture; to consider restricting the plant palette to rugged perennials – more natives than not – that can be depended upon to look after themselves, and that I am able to control with a gentle thinning as needed.
And to pay more attention to what foliage texture offers the garden picture – I think we too often focus on color when composing our gardens at the expense of other less obvious plant attributes, like seedheads and berries, stems and leaf shape…and texture. Just looking at the huge variety within the viburnum tribe, one could almost be tempted to stick to them without monotony entering the equation. If you need to know more, the best guide is Michael Dirr’s Viburnum: Flowering Shrubs for Every Season (Timber Press 2007).
Winter stretches out before me, and it’s been a long year one way and another. Despite Colorado’s bluebird sky and the glistening beauty of Pike’s Peak snowy crest, I find solace in the garden. Years ago, before I left England, my Mum gave me a note inscribed by a friend who had calligraphy as a hobby (quite a self-contained sort of pursuit, well-suited to wintery pastimes). It reads:
When the world wearies and society ceases to satisfy, there is always the garden
True enough.
With best wishes for Thanksgiving 2024.
Ethne Clarke