A KIND OF WINTER

On the first full day of winter, the sun was shining, the temp was mild, we spent a bit of time that morning, what else, chopping some leaves.  Blooming in the garden were:  our one rose bush, violas and pansies, a few yellow marigolds, the orange species zinnias, the two pots of impatiens, dill, purple chrysanthemums and a pot of white pentas.  The marigolds have been remarkable; they reseeded themselves from a plant the year before, so I have collected some dry seed pods and will cast them out next spring and hope for more of this excellent variety, although I have very indifferent luck with growing things from seeds.  The little orange zinna has never died back.  Our back yard, what we call the garden, is sheltered by trees and fences, and what with the mild temps, it is still a haven for plants.

Lest it be thought that color is was rife throughout the garden, in actuality leaves are everywhere and many plants such as the dayliles are on their way back from winter rest. 

Now, we still have several weeks before official winter ends but days are very mild.  The flowering quince, which has bloomed all winter, is just amazing.  So many daffodils and jonquils are up and obviously planning to bloom. 

Every year I promise myself (and my husband) that we are done with planting bulbs, that there’s no more space, blah, blah, blah.  And every year, I really mean that.  But then a possibility occurs, I am left too long alone with a catalog, and, as I write this, I know that an order, a very small order, of only eleven bulbs is coming, five tuberoses, five crocosmias, and only one gladiola, but ah, what an exciting one. 

There is no particular superiority about being a gardener, but there is this one virtue:  we can have all sorts of failures and still believe in possibilities.  Now if we gardeners could just unite and do something about world peace!