Making the garden great again

Our honeymoon of tropical winters without freezing weather ended last weekend. Actually, it had ended a couple of weeks before that when temperatures tippy-toed slightly to the freezing mark and a degree or two below, but this time the old mercury in the thermometer sank like a stone right through that barrier and went straight on down to the low 20s. It was territory that my garden had not visited in a few years. It left its mark.

The Cape honeysuckle was still in full bloom and feeding the passing hummingbirds and butterflies when the low temperatures hit. Now its bright orange blossoms are frostbit and turning brown along with the leaves. And the bright little Sulphur butterflies that sipped from them all day long will have to find other sustenance.

The clumps of lemon grass were just about to bloom, but the cold put the kibosh on that. Last year, these clumps grew right through winter, never slowing down, but this year I'll be cutting them back and letting them grow afresh from the roots.

The Hamelia patens (hummingbird bush) succumbed to our first bit of cold weather a few weeks ago and now there is nothing left but brown stems and blackening leaves.

The big old split-leaf philodendron that lives by my back porch can tolerate some pretty cold weather, but two consecutive nights of temperatures in the low 20s were too much for it. There's nothing left but a pile of mushy leaves.

Well, I could go on with these sad pictures, but I don't want to depress you too much. A walk around the garden these days is enough to dishearten the staunchest gardener, except...

Every dead plant is an opportunity!

And, in fact, all of these plants that I've showed you are not dead. They are in retreat at the moment, resting and storing their energy to burst forth and reclaim their rightful places in the spring. But there will be a few plants in the garden that will not be returning and that will have to be replaced. Moreover, there are a handful of others that I've grown bored with over the years and I've decided to either rid myself of them or to reduce the space they are given in my garden.

Now comes the opportunity. In spite of the difficult times ahead when I'll be pruning and digging and moving plants and, in some cases, removing plants, I will now have a chance to try new plants, especially new perennials. Perennials are the backbone of my garden and new and improved ones are being introduced every year. There are several that I've been longing to try but didn't have room for. Now I will!

In addition, there are all those bright and beautiful annuals that can create wonderful focal points in the garden. Maybe I can tuck some of them in this year, too.

My frozen plants, then, are not the disaster that they look. They are merely a temporary setback. This is my chance to make my garden better than ever. To try new and improved perennials and brighter and better annuals. It is my chance to make my garden great again!

As the seed catalogs continue to pile up day by day, I will have plenty of tools to get me started.

There is joy in the garden, even in planning the garden, and even in the darkest days.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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