The Gardener in Winter

by Donna

As the daughter of a gardener, I grew up knowing that each season had its own special task.  In spring, you planted and in summer you tended the garden.  In fall you reaped the harvest of your labors.

And in winter you curled up on the sofa and read garden catalogs,

One of my most vivid memories of my father is of seeing him tucked up under a crocheted afghan on the sofa in the den with his clipboard propped against his knees as he studied the latest crop of catalogs and made notes in his neat, elegant printing.

I credit my own collection of garden catalogs with helping to keep me sane during the last few weeks, as the Washington area reeled under the Snowpocalypse. I could shovel out my own walk after each storm and snag a passing entrepreneur to do the driveway.  But the Virginia Department of Transportation doesn't consider my road a particularly important one. The first couple of days, the only snowplow I saw was lumbering down the road with his blade high in the air, helping the SUVs pack the snow down into ice.

Grr.

But there wasn't much I could do about the snowplows that never came.  Or continued temperatures in the teens and twenties, turning my street into a fair approximation of a skating rink. What was my problem, anyway? I had food.  I had power, except for one chilly twelve-hour period.  I had books,  I had movies.  I had all the time in the world to relax and enjoy myself.

But I wanted spring.  Or at least some kind of reassurance that the snow would eventually go away.

My eye fell on the stack of garden catalogs I'd collected.  I sorted through the pile, pulling out all the ones that specialized in seeds.  I curled up in bed, turned on the electric mattress pad--a present to myself after the first of this winter's marathon cold snaps--and spent a happy evening planning my garden. Quite a few happy evenings, not to mention a few afternoons at the computer, browsing the sites of garden suppliers from whom I don't yet have catalogs.

I find I'm drawn to companies that sell odd seeds and heirloom seeds.  I like the fragrant flower section at Select Seeds--I'm thinking datura, fewerfew, morning glory, four o'clocks, heliotrope, stock, and nicotiana.  And love-lies-bleeding, which I first saw on a visit to Mount Vernon, though Select Seeds has a host of other amaranths.  So does Seeds of Change, where I also notice some interesting nigellas. 

I could spend days studying the wares at Tomato Fest and Totally Tomatoes.  Green tomatoes!  Russian black tomatoes!  Stuffer tomatoes, shaped like bell peppers!  And so many varieties of cherry tomatoes, always my favorite.  The fact that last summer was a truly dismal season for tomatoes does not abate my enthusiasm for growing a wide variety of heirloom tomatoes this year.

Every so often, reality would intrude.  I would remind myself that while I have plenty of yard, sunny spots are in short supply, and deer are not. I have to grow most of my garden in pots on the deck.  Just how many pots can I possibly squeeze there?

Never mind that now.  I'll manage somehow.  And look!  A cucumber specially developed for container gardening!  Must have that, along with the lemon cucumbers and the Hmong red ones.  And look!  I could grow my own loofahs!  My own tea!

I once heard Barbara Hambly talking at a convention about a writer she knew who had difficulty starting projects because as long as the book was in his head, it was still perfect, the best thing he would ever write.  I know how that feels.  I always want to wait a little longer, just do a little more thinking, a little more research, a little more planning.  Right now the book I'm planning is still vague in my mind, but I know it's going to be awesome!  Just as this year's garden will be the best ever, a veritable jungle of plants, teeming with fruit, flowers, and vegetables.  Fortunately, deadlines, like the seasons, march on, forcing me to sit down and start on my draft before I dream away too much of my writing time. 

So it's time to stop mooning over seed catalogs.  I need to make some tough decisions about how many kinds of plants I can find room for.  Order the seeds.  Figure out where to put the seed flats.  Maybe order a growing light.  It won't be the dream garden I've fantasized during these snowbound days and icy nights.  But it will be pretty cool.  So will the book, I'm sure. Time to finish with the garden so I can move on to my draft.

(Hmmm . . . Queen Anne's Pocket Melon? Nemesia?  Jerusalem artichokes?)

Comments

[Sheila Connolly]

Ah, yes, the garden remains perfect in your head, but not on the ground. Last year slugs ate my zucchini. I thought zucchini were indestructible. I was wrong.

My project for this year is the ground nut. Say what? This was a staple crop of local Indian tribes in my very area--in the 17th century. They would bury caches of it and come back when they needed food. I first heard of it in Nathaniel Philbrick's Mayflower.

But what is it, and where do you find it? At a signing, I asked Philbrick--and he had no clue. So I had to hunt on the Internet, and now I have a source. I think. Is this thing actually edible? Got me, but I'll find out and let you know.

[Donna Andrews]

Ground nuts is a special plant? I always thought it was peanuts! But when I look it up, I find it refers to several different plants....what's the scientific name of what you're going to try?

I'm also contemplating ground cherries, sunberries, and stevia.

[Liz]

Hmmm, stevia. The new IN plant, as personified by the product Truvia and some other "via" I can't remember right now, which are non caloric natural sweeteners derived from the stevia plant. (I use Truvia)

Have fun with the seeds!

[Hank Phillippi Ryan]

You know, the "Seed" search is such a wonderful metaphor..isn't it what we all do, dreaming of whatever kind of garden calls to us?

For years, I only planted flowers that were pink, white or lavender. Then one day, some of the little pink tulips I planted decided they were gonna be yellow.

And from that moment on, my garden changed. Now--anything goes. SO I ask--who's in charge here?

[Hank Phillippi Ryan]

And you'll know this--what's the new-ish book that posits that plants are the smartest entities of all--because they've figured out how to get humans to take care of them?

[Dana]

I've come to the sad conclusion that while I like the idea of gardening, I will never be a gardener. But the packets of seeds, the reward of blooms in spring never fails to be a lure, especially this time of year. I've learned to resist, doing a minimum level of landscaping with indestructible plants that like shade, ledge, and cold (hostas!) and supporting my local farmer. Good luck, Donna!

[Rosemary Harris]

A lovely post. I walked around my garden yesterday, knocking snow and ice off branches. Some, of course, were broken, but others popped right up like slingshots. The perfect garden, like the most sincere pumpkin patch and the perfect book. May we all harvest all of them!