Ice Moon Garden

It is beautiful and lush. I am dreaming of beautiful plant-filled spaces. There are fantastic cloud forests with mosses turned into tree-like giants, along with oversized violet trumpets exuding a jasmine-like fragrance. This type of dreaming may be from cabin fever, or anticipation of a warm vacation. Or, it might be part of a necessary annual recharging synapses with gardening spirit.

Gardeners are people who tend to attract plants into their lives. We do this with all good intention. The land where I grow plants is set in native woodland. To attract pollinators, I nurture native blooms along with many ornamental and vegetable plants. Gardeners do their best to enhance diversity by adding to the land they alter. Their efforts help develop a vibrant ecological complexity.

I was wowed by this year’s catalogs. It is a real challenge planning where to plant everything. If in August I expect to be eating a slice of an heirloom “Moon and Star” watermelon, it will call for new bed development. With Italian pole and runner beans on order, I will need more space to spread out. Also, I want to put in beds of asparagus and potatoes. I will need a roll of bird-net fencing and poles. Along with expansion of my vegetable beds, building another cold frame or two is in order. I have high hopes of reaping lots of color and an abundance of crops from this year?s garden.

In winter there is more time to consider deeper connections to the garden. My enthusiasm is sustained by a passion for being in touch with the natural world. Sustainability is what the word “perennial” is all about. Gardening supplies a model of sustainability, one that has existed for eons. Gardening serves as a bridge between our lives and the primordial world of plants that existed before we arrived. Plants are our allies in the river of life and inform us with their strategies for cooperation and defense. Essentially, plants feed us on many levels serving our body, mind and spirit.

Recollecting the Victorian meanings of flowers can be handy in February. With Valentine’s Day coming, forced blooms appear in the marketplace. I like to select plants that will survive until they can be incorporated into the spring garden. I might purchase a pot of miniature jonquil, meaning “I desire a return of affection,” or perhaps an attractive primrose, meaning “first rose,” or “early youth.” Giving either a rose or a red tulip is “a declaration of love.”

My snow-clad beds make a fine blank canvas for dreaming. Imagined flavors water the mouth, and colors fill the eye. What will the first yellow-orange bite of Sibley squash taste like? Will the zinnia Wowie Zowie shock nearby blooms with its sharply brilliant, red-orange heads? Will a vine of deep violet-blue morning glory Kniola’s Black compliment pole bean Trionfo Violetta’s purple veined leaves? Big pink blooms of the runner bean “Sunset” will look terrific climbing deep red Velvet Queen sunflowers. Armchair gardening is essential tonic for lengthy winter, and can ease impatience with anticipation.