Closed for the season

Flower & Garden Magazine, Jan-Feb, 1997 by Doug Hall

Not long ago, a feature writer from the local newspaper telephoned me. She was writing an article on what gardeners do in winter, she said, and she wanted to get my thoughts on the subject.

"Isn't it sad to see all your flowers freeze?" she asked. "Doesn't it drive you crazy that there's nothing to do in the garden until spring?"

Not at all, I told her. I've grown to welcome the "clean sweep" of foliage and flowers achieved by autumn's first hard freeze. Almost overnight, frost peels away lush excesses of foliage and other superficial distractions, leaving only the geometric forms of conifers and the sculpted skeletons of deciduous trees and shrubs. The garden is suddenly more spacious, monochromatic, austere in its lack of color and detail, and stylish in its simplicity. Although fall freezes aren't the cause for celebration that spring's surge of new growth is, they are, just the same, an essential part of the seasonal cycle.

So many of my garden's inhabitants, from leeks to lisianthus, have a limited life span; autumn provides the impetus to clear out the old, the overgrown and the past-their-prime. By mid-October, the annuals are exhausted. Quite frankly, I'm tired, too of the regular deadheading, watering and grooming that has kept them going so long. I'm ready to take a few months off from outdoor gardening chores before I start over with something new -- and most likely different -- next spring.

For the most part, I'm content to leave the garden gate closed once fall cleanup is through. Mine is not a garden in which winter-defiant treasures are nestled into protected nooks where they bravely send forth an occasional bud to be nipped by frost. I'll leave it to my neighbors to wrest pleasure from the wind-burned foliage of their hellebores; you'll find me indoors, reading a book.

Nor can I find much to admire in witch hazels, one of the few shrubs that dares to bloom in cold weather. Fans of witch hazels refer to the "subtle, understated beauty" of their meager, contorted blossoms. I'll wait for the forsythias, thank you.

No, winter is not my favorite season of the year. Snowy landscapes are beautiful, but I prefer to admire winter's splendor from the warm side of the windowpane. Therefore, I've chosen a few plants specifically for their bold contributions to the winter panorama. Conifers of all types fit the bill, providing a green presence through the cold months. Other touches of January color are found in the scarlet fruits of winterberries (flex verticillata) and the vivid coral twigs of dogwoods (Corpus alba `Elegantissima'). Ornamental grasses, most notably a large clump of Miscanthus sinensis, would normally add their gently swaying plumes to the picture; this year, however, a heavy, sticky snow in October brought the grasses to the ground.

Other than these broad strokes, my garden in winter is an empty canvas awaiting spring. And while it lies dormant, I'm contentedly pursuing other hobbies and interests.

Needless to say, my opinions were not of interest to the reporter. Maybe she thought someone who is so willing to abandon the garden in winter couldn't be a true gardener; perhaps she had decided on the slant her article would take before she started making calls. When the article appeared, it was filled with quotes from gardeners who were sent into deep emotional turmoil at the first sign of snow. My comments were nowhere to be found.

It serves me right; my stance puts me among the minority. One gardener who disagrees with me is Molly Dean, who celebrates winter's frosty landscapes in her article "A Walk Through a Snowy Garden," beginning on page 20. Also in this issue, author Kenneth C. Brown reveals his growing tips for amaryllis, the season's showiest houseplant (page 18); and we present our annual listing of major flower shows (page 10). Enjoy winter while you can -- it will soon be spring.