But then yesterday, I awoke to this scene. This was my idea of perfect snow. The storm blew through overnight, snowing heavily but moving away by daybreak and leaving about 7” of beautiful new snow in its wake. This was the kind of morning when muffled sound and softly diffuse light tell you before you even open your eyes that a winter wonderland awaits you.

This was a perfect snowfall not only because it fell overnight when most people were asleep and not trying to travel, but because it fell while the temperatures were cold (about 10F). The resulting snow was low in moisture, making it light and fluffy. Although it clung to the trees, it wasn’t sticky or heavy. This was perfect powder, ideal for skiing and easy to shovel.

As the sun rose, the sky turned a soft blue and temperatures rose into the twenties – a perfect day for getting out and enjoying the special pleasures of winter. I wouldn’t mind more days like this in the weeks to come.

Indoor blooms are a special treat in this kind of weather. In the heady days of summer, individual plants can get lost in the profusion of flowers. But in the depths of winter, each flower commands attention and is a singular joy.

This year, I’ve been making a special effort to acquire winter flowering houseplants that can bloom in sequence. The newly acquired Christmas cactus (Schlumbergera) bloomed through the holidays and is just about to lose its last flowers.
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My potted cyclamen bloom for much of the year, but they are especially appreciated now. This year, I combined two separate plants, one with white flowers and one with bright pink flowers, into a single large pot, and I’m delighted with the way they now look blooming together. There are additional potted cyclamen on either side of this one, one in a more lavender shade of pink and one red. Not only are all these plants in bloom; they also have many buds, promising flowers for weeks to come.

The winter bloom that is bringing me the most joy today is one of several amaryllis (Hippeastrum) bulbs that I purchased this fall. The first opened its two flowers on Christmas morning (see A Blooming White Christmas) and bloomed through New Year’s Day. The second, Hippeastrum ‘Green Goddess’ began to bloom the first week in January. Today, the four flowers on its first flower stalk are all fully open, and a second set of flowers are just beginning to bloom. In Brent and Becky’s catalog, this flower seemed to be a yellow-green; but mine has bloomed snow white with a green-yellow throat and green midribs. I find it breathtaking, and I can’t count how many hours of joy it has already given me.

Wherever you garden and whatever your climate conditions at this time of year, I hope you have flowers to bring you joy this January day.

Garden Blogger’s Bloom Day is hosted on the 15th of each month by Carol at May Dreams Gardens. Visit her blog to see what’s in bloom this month in gardens around the world.

This didn’t start out looking like an open winter. An early snow in October was followed by more than a foot of snow the day before Thanksgiving. Typically, once we have a significant snowfall in November or December, we have snow on the ground until spring. This year, however, the late November snow was followed by weeks of unseasonably warm weather in which the snow all melted. By the time I got back to Maine for Christmas, the ground was bare. The weather since has alternated between warm, wet periods (rain) and cold, dry periods. Although we have had a little light snow, there is still a lot of bare ground showing.

Those from more temperate climates may assume that an open winter would be a welcome event; and I have certainly heard some people expressing pleasure in our recent warm temperatures and absence of snow. But this is by no means a universal response. Maine’s winter economy – attracting tourists for downhill and cross-country skiing, snowmobiling, and ice fishing – depends on snow and cold, making the current weather pattern worrisome. I’ve noticed that local television meteorologists have begun to apologize for their warm and snowless forecasts.

But open winters are not just bad for the local economy; they’re also bad for the garden. To understand why, you have to understand the protective role of snow. Snow is a wonderful insulator. We often describe the ground as “blanketed” in snow; a better analogy might be that snow is like a down comforter or duvet – light and fluffy with lots of air pockets that trap heat. Good snow cover protects plants from killing cold and from freeze and thaw cycles that can damage plants and even heave them out of the ground.

My garden is on the border of USDA hardiness zones 4b and 5a. We often get overnight low temperatures in winter that are in the zone 4 range (-20F to –25F), but because snow cover insulates plants from those cold temperatures, I grow many perennial plants that are rated hardy only to zone 5. Open winters are likely to be winters with plant losses. This year I’m particularly worried about the newly planted serenity garden. Those plants had only a few months to put down roots and get settled before winter arrived, and they are probably particularly susceptible to both cold and frost heaves. On the other hand, this area seems to be a relatively warm microclimate (the snow always melts in this part of the garden first); time will tell.

Is this year’s open winter is a consequence of global warming, the Arctic Oscillation, or a combination of the two? It’s hard to know. If open winters are going to be more common here, however, I will have to reconsider my fall garden regimen. Up until now, I have simply put away hoses and garden supports in the fall and left winter protection to mother nature. In the future, I may find myself looking to garden bloggers from somewhat further south locations without reliable winter snow cover for advice about other ways to protect plants from the hardships of winter.

Black Walnut Dispatch is a new blog, begun this past November, which has quickly developed a substantial following. Blogger Mary Gray is a freelance garden designer and garden coach with a degree in landscape design, who gardens in the US state of Virginia. She notes that she loves writing almost as much as she loves gardening, and it shows; the quality of writing is at the heart of this blog. And the writing here is characterized by irreverent humor that is laugh-out-loud funny. Some of my favorite posts are her “top ten” lists, like Top Ten New Gardening Show Ideas, Top Ten Most Annoying Garden Buzzwords and Catchphrases of 2011, Top Ten Gardening Gifts from Hell, and Top Ten Most Fearsome Gardening Tools. But don’t let the humor fool you; there is a lot of serious substance in this blog, including garden philosophy, solid research and information, and  practical garden knowledge. This blog has already garnered a great deal of well-deserved attention and was reviewed and recommended by Thomas Rainer at Grounded Design weeks ago, so I’m actually pretty late jumping on the bandwagon. The fact is that I gave Black Walnut Dispatch a cursory glance after reading Thomas’s post, but it didn’t grab me. I think that’s because I didn’t have time to read carefully, and this is a blog that demands and rewards careful reading. If you have not yet seen this blog or if, like me, you passed it by after a quick look, do go visit; I think you’ll be glad you did.

The serious garden content is closer to the surface in Gardening with Bob Dylan, but that content is also accompanied by wit and gentle humor. This blog is based in the UK, in the clay soil of Kent; and its author, Jane, describes herself as “a working gardener” and as “female and not very young.” She also notes that her “other enthusiasms” include “garden literature and Bob Dylan.” Each post in this blog is linked to a Bob Dylan song. I must admit that, even though I’m the right generation, I’m not a big Dylan fan, so a lot of the song allusions are lost on me. But I find particular pleasure in blogs that link gardening to larger themes, and this one uses the Bob Dylan lyrics as a philosophical touchstone to do just that. In Gardening with Bob Dylan, everyday gardening experiences are tied to larger life issues, to serious discussions of garden philosophy and to practical advice on topics like pruning and seed saving. I particularly enjoyed Mary’s discussion of circular shapes in the garden (Round and Round – Eternal Circle) and her advice on late summer pruning (Judicious Cutting – Not Dark Yet). This is a well-written and meaty blog with much to offer the attentive reader.

If, like me, you find winter a time for garden reading, both these blogs would be valuable additions to your reading list.

This is my third year of creating holiday gift calendars for family members and friends, and this year’s calendar is a doubly good celebration of the new year – because, for the first time, the calendar includes both my gardens and because, this year, there are two versions.

I didn’t start out intending to create two different versions of this year’s calendar. When I first tried this in 2010, it was an experiment and I opted for a relatively inexpensive calendar printed by Fed-Ex (see A Year of Gifts from the Garden). In 2011, looking for a larger format calendar and better color reproduction, I ordered (considerably more expensive) calendars from Snapfish, a company recommended by another blogger (see A New Year in the Garden). I was delighted with the results and considered the calendars well worth the extra expense. So when it came time to create this year’s gift calendars, I didn’t hesitate in turning to Snapfish again. But a mishap in the printing process resulted in every photograph being marred. After five days of frustrating dealings with Snapfish’s dysfunctional customer support system, I decided to upload my calendar photos to Lulu, which comes highly recommended by Clare at Curbstone Valley Farm. About the same time, I found my way to a website for Snapfish complaints called GetSatisfaction, which turned out to be monitored by Snapfish customer service managers. Within hours after posting a description of my problem there, I had a response from a manager who worked hard and fast to “make it right” for me – reprinting my calendars, having them specially inspected for quality, rush shipping them to me, and refunding half the original cost.

Although Snapfish resolved the problems and produced high quality calendars for me, I decided to go ahead and order a sample from Lulu so that I could compare them. For the most part, I uploaded the same images for both calendars. I couldn’t use the same cover, however, because the Lulu format requires a portrait (rather than landscape) orientation for the cover. Because I like to use an image from the inside of the calendar as a cover, I solved this problem by substituting a collage of three photos (one of which was the right shape to use for the cover) for an image that I wasn’t entirely happy with on my Snapfish calendar. As you can see below, the two calendars use the same images for January-June and for September-December, but they have different images for July and August:

January – Peony (Paeonia lactiflora)	February – A profusion of blue flowers (Amsonia, Tradescantia, and Iris sibirica)
March – Balloon flower (Platycodon grandiflorus) just beginning to open	April flowers in my Gettysburg garden
May – Astrantia	June – The back garden in June
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July [Snapfish version] – Some daylily (Hemerocallis) varieties in my Maine garden	July [Lulu version] – Delphinium (Delphinium cultorum – New Millennium series)
August [Snapfish version] – Summer blooms of tradescantia, geranium, delphinium & heliopsis	August [Lulu version] – Some daylily (Hemerocallis) varieties in my Maine garden
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September – Garden phlox (Phlox paniculata ‘David’)	October – Morning glories (Ipomoea tricolor ‘Blues Brothers’)
November – Golden fall foliage on American Beech tree (Fagus grandifolia)	December – Freezing fog on Eastern Hemlock (Tsuga canadensis)
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So how do the two calendars compare in quality? In a side-by-side comparison, the Lulu calendar is the clear winner. As Clare has reported, the color reproduction from Lulu is superb, without any of the problems with oversaturated colors that I have experienced with other vendors. Moreover, this higher quality comes at a lower price: the base price of the Lulu deluxe calendar is lower than that of the similar Snapfish product, and Lulu also offers a volume discount for orders of five calendars or more (which Snapfish does not). As an added benefit, I can make my calendars available for purchase from Lulu. (To learn more, click here.)

Next year, Lulu will be my choice for creating my gift calendars. This year, I am happy to have two versions of  calendars celebrating my two gardens and providing a double promise of garden pleasures in 2012.

The scene was equally sweet indoors as a number of winter-blooming houseplants opened flowers in time for Christmas.

The stalwart cyclamens never fail me, blooming year after year on their cool, sunny window ledge. The Christmas cactus, with its pale, peachy-pink flowers, is a new addition this year. The most exciting blooms of all, however, were the stunning red-and-cream striped flowers of Hippeastrum ‘Papillo Butterfly,’ which opened on Christmas morning.

Wishing all of you a happy blooming holiday season!

My life is attuned to the academic year, and both the winter and summer solstices come during times when school is not in session. During school terms, my life is strictly scheduled and ruled by long work hours and scarcity of time. I am constantly aware of time as I rush from class to meetings to office hours, as I scramble to finish preparing for classes that I never quite feel completely ready for, as I calculate the hours needed to grade one or another set of student papers and try to figure out where I will find those hours. The scarcity of time accelerates through the semester, reaching a crescendo during the “grading crunch” of final papers and final exams. And then, as I turn in my final grades, time suddenly slows down and stretches out and all the stress falls away. It is a dramatic contrast.

This year that slowing down of time has been especially welcome. This was a particularly difficult semester, with a grueling combination of courses to teach, a flash flood that drowned my car, and mold problems that forced my department out of our academic space in the basement of a Victorian building. Both I and my classes had to move multiple times during the school term. By the time it was over, I had been housed in three different offices, had taught in five different classrooms, and had been required to pack and move a career’s worth of accumulated books and papers. The moves were disruptive and exhausting, and I felt as though I could barely drag  myself across the finish line of the semester. And just when I was almost there, I discovered that a significant number of students in one of my courses had cheated on the final exam. This is the kind of incident that can create a crisis of faith for a teacher. At best, it leaves you feeling flattened and deflated; at worst, it makes you question your whole life’s work.

In the wake of all this, the solstice represents a time of renewal and healing. The summer solstice makes time feel endless because so much can be packed into all those hours of light. But it is the long hours of darkness that slow time down for the winter solstice. This is a season for tucked-in coziness, candlelight, and the warmth of a wood fire. On the summer solstice, I am up at dawn, not wanting to waste a moment of the clear summer sunlight. On the winter solstice, I am more likely to sleep in and then linger over a hot breakfast.

The weather for the winter solstice can be quite varied in Maine. In some years, we have new snow, and it is a great day for some cross-country skiing  followed by a mug of hot cocoa. In other years, the solstice weather is perfect for all those errands occasioned by preparation for Christmas. This year, the solstice was dark and dreary, with freezing temperatures and rain – a day designed for staying indoors with a novel to read and a pot of soup simmering on the back of the stove. However I spend it, this is always a day of exquisite relaxation.

Today that relaxing quality of time is working its healing magic. As the earth begins its turn back toward the sun, I can feel the renewal of energy as I begin to look forward to a new school term and a new year.

Lucy’s in the Garden is a brand new blog from Houston, Texas gardener Lucy Abbott. This blog consists primarily of photo essays; there are small amounts of text, but photos tell most of the story. Some of these stories are step-by-step “how-to” posts, like the one on creating a mosaic urn or the guide to Forcing Bulbs for the Holidays. Some posts are more whimsical, while others are beautifully evocative (for example, The Miracle of Rain). The latter category were my favorites; this is where Lucy Abbott’s photography really shines. The images in this blog are not just pretty pictures of flowers (although, as the header photo above demonstrates, there are plenty of lovely flowers in this virtual garden); many are stunning macro shots that ask you to really look closely at the natural world around you. I can’t wait to see more.

While the photos grabbed me at Lucy Abbott’s blog, it was the words that I couldn’t tear myself away from at The Hortiholic. I started at the first post and just kept going until I had read every word. Although Wilmette, Illinois gardener Karen Geisler’s posts include photos, this is a word lover’s blog. The well-crafted posts are thoughtful, evocative, and informative. Karen’s first post, An Introduction, is well worth reading, and I enjoyed her essay on garden gnomes.  I think my favorite posts in this blog, however, are the ones that provide me with new information about gardening or plants (for example, Worts and all, about plants whose common names end in “wort.”) This is not a blog with new posts every day or even several times a week. Instead, each new essay at The Hortiholic is a gem to be anticipated and savored.

If you are looking for a pleasure break in this busy holiday season, I can attest that both these blogs provide great mini-vacations. Enjoy!

Oh beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain

For purple mountain majesties,  Above the fruited plain.

As I think about nature’s beauty and bounty in my own life this Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the local farmers whose bounty feeds me. They have provided the apples for the apple pie and the whole wheat flour and buttermilk for the dinner rolls that will be my contribution to Thanksgiving dinner at a friend’s house. But I am also thankful for my garden. Although I don’t grow food there, the garden is an important source of nature’s beauty and bounty in my life.

Long ago, I came to understand that my psychological well-being rests on four legs: connection with nature, connection with self, connection with others, and meaningful work. When I have all four of these elements present and balanced in my life, I feel the euphoria of overflowing joy. With any three of the four in place, I am happy and healthy. But if I have only two, my well-being is wobbly; and if one comes to dominate, I am unhappy and stressed. Although I am lucky to do work (college teaching) that I find meaningful and fulfilling, work is the element that is most likely to take over my life, especially during those times of the school year when doing the work well requires long hours of class preparation and grading. My commitment to walking to and from work most days (even though it takes almost an hour round trip) is a way to keep two of the other elements present. My walking time is time for personal reflection and connection with self. But it is also time for connection with nature, as I notice a particularly beautiful maple leaf that has fallen onto the sidewalk or gaze at gardens along the way .

The gardening season is often a time of great happiness in my life because my garden can provide all four elements of well-being for me. The garden literally grounds me. I am a person who lives alone, has strong needs for solitude, and usually gardens alone, so gardening time is almost always time for connection with self. Gardening is creative work that helps me connect with a creative, artistic self that for many years I didn’t know existed. Gardening is also physical work that connects me with the capabilities and limitations of my body. And whether I am doing routine garden chores or relaxing in the garden, I am able to use the time to reflect on my life and relationships or just to let my mind wander into new pathways of thought.

Of course, the garden always connects me with nature. In my daily walks around the garden, I peer closely at plants and become attuned to their life cycles. Trying to provide for the needs of the plants I grow connects me with the complex relationships of plant life, insect life, animal life, soil, rain, and sunshine. Even on a snowy day like today, when much of my garden is hidden from view under its white blanket and I am staying indoors, I am aware of the natural world outside my windows – of the stark beauty of trees limbs traced in white, of the more voluptuous beauty of evergreen boughs wearing thick white stoles, of the rhododendron leaves fully open beneath their white caps (telling me that the temperature is near or above freezing).

The garden also connects me with others. Like all gardeners, I want to share the beauty and bounty of my garden. During the summer months, I have friends over for meals in the garden. In spring and fall, I make connections with other gardeners and would-be gardeners at work by giving away divisions of my plants. Garden photography provides another way to share my garden with others, especially through the garden calendars that have become a favorite gift for family and friends. And writing a garden blog has connected me with a wonderful and  unexpected virtual community.

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As I grow older, I find the work of gardening more and more meaningful. Gardening is no longer something I do just to create beauty and pleasure in my own life. I now do it more mindfully, hoping to make an ecological contribution through my gardening practices. Gardening has become an activity imbued with meaning and a source of fulfillment – and this is particularly important to me as I move toward retirement and away from the work that has defined my life for almost forty years. I expect gardening to provide meaning in my life for many years to come. I am hoping to do more garden writing after I retire from teaching. I am also planning to get certified as a Master Gardener, and I am looking forward to new kinds of meaningful work as a Master Gardener volunteer.

Tomorrow is  Thanksgiving, and I am giving thanks for the garden.

On the patio fence, a tangle of  morning glory (Ipomoea) vines now hangs limp and blackened.

In the back flower bed, the hosta leaves are yellow and papery.

And in the small flower bed by the patio, the balloon flowers (Platycodon) have finally given up blooming.

But, despite these signs of dormancy, it’s not yet winter in my Gettysburg garden.

In the front yard, tattered flowers of Dianthus are still blooming gamely in the half barrel.

And Sedum spectabile ‘Neon’ has turned from hot pink to deep wine.

Soon I’ll have to rely on indoor blooms and my southern hemisphere friends for my flower fix. But perhaps I can eke out a few more days, or even weeks, of garden flowers before winter truly arrives.

Garden Blogger’s Bloom Day is hosted on the 15th of each month by Carol at May Dreams Gardens. Visit her blog to see what is in bloom this month in gardens around the world (including southern hemisphere gardens boasting a profusion of spring flowers).