Snowdrops on Magnolia Bend

Ok—well, we really are still in winter but for the most part you would not know.  With multiple days in the 40’s and 50’s there is lot of activity in the horticultural world.  Early flowering shrubs such as fragrant honeysuckle (Lonicera fragrantissima), witchhazel (Hamamelis vernalis) and winter jasmine (Jasminum nudiflorum) are in blossom and the snowdrops are making a show on the March Bank as well as in woodland pockets throughout the garden. 

Glancing at the long range forecast on the Old Farmer’s Almanac web page (gardeners are obsessed with weather) they predict that the month of January will be 5 degrees above normal.  For those of us that like to spend time outdoors gardening or hiking to ward off the effects of cabin fever, this is most welcome news (sorry about that snow enthusiasts!).  This weather trend has been a wonderful carry over from December where the garden saw a flurry of activity by those hoping to enjoy some time outside with friends and family and walk off a few of the cookies and candy that made their way to the winter waistline.  With a warm weekend in the forecast, the garden should be hopping yet again with walkers and more floral activity as the blossoms respond to the winter sun and spring-like temperatures. 

The sad part of this warm season tale is that Winterthur will close to the general public from January 9th through February 29th.  The upside to this tale is that if you are a member, you have access to walk the garden and grounds while we are closed…and what a treat that is.  There is nothing like the feeling of having your own “private garden” and the soulfulness of watching spring unfurl before your very eyes.  There are many magical moments in the winter garden such as seeing the early morning light illuminate the fuzzy flower buds of magnolias or the waning afternoon rays backlighting a forest of beech leaves still attached to the trees.  There is also plenty of wildlife to view from waterfowl to song birds at the feeders. Maybe your sole interest in walking the garden is keeping that New Year’s health resolution going; the miles of paths and inclines promise to deliver a good cardio-workout; that is unless you stop to look at the flowers!

So at the risk of sounding like a salesperson, if all this winter activity sounds appealing to you and you are not a member why don’t you consider becoming one?  Information about membership benefits can be found on our website, www.winterthur.org or by calling 302 888-4713.   (I get no kickbacks from this endorsement!).  I hope to see some new faces out in the garden this winter and to all the rest I look forward to seeing you in March!

For more info about Jasmine and Galanthus in the Winterthur Garden, please see Maggie Lidz’ blog entry: http://gardenblog.winterthur.org/2011/12/15/jasmine-in-bloom/

A not so successful snowdrop shot

The morning light crests the hill.  The birds are singing their spring songs.  I have the garden to myself.  I take a deep breath, I bend forward. I exhale. I take a deep breath and come back to standing.  I take a deep breath and bend at the knees to a crouching position.  I breathe and stretch a little further.  I exhale and come back to standing.  No, I am not practicing yoga in the garden (though that might be nice). I am contorting my body and holding my breath to capture that perfect photo of the March Bank in its full snowdrop glory.  I wish I could say that I got the result I was looking for.  The truth is that the camera can not fully deliver the experience of seeing something in person.  I had what I thought to be the right elements in place; morning light, overcast conditions, multiple angles yet it barely captured what I was seeing.

My husband was a professional photographer in an earlier life and has provided me some tutelage along the way.  I set up the scenario of my “yoga shots” and asked him what went wrong.  He mentioned a few terms—manually opening the aperature, bracketing, f-stops—things that the average “point and shoot” photographer may not know.  Essentially it comes down to the camera’s light meter averaging out all that it was taking in—pure white, reflective flowers on a dark background. The camera “averaged to middle grey”; the end result, a mediocre picture.   He went on to sing the praises of the of the human brain; how our eyes are constantly “adjusting the light meters”, continuously sending multiple exposures to our brain and our brain seamlessly puts them together to create the perfect picture and the perfect experience. 

 I bring up my photographic failure not because I enjoy public humiliation but to emphasize that there is no replacement for the true experience.  This is becoming more and more relevant as we enter the instantaneous digital-virtual world of webcams, video, and photography and where one can “tour” a garden or museum over the computer.  It is great to be able to type in a few key words and have an image of Van Gogh’s Starry Night magically appear on the computer screen but it is no substitution for the real thing; looking closely at the brush strokes and then stepping back and seeing the image that is created and the emotion that is evoked at that moment. 

Gardens by their nature, in close alliance with sporadic weather, consistently create a certain “viewing urgency” similar to the final days of an art exhibition. Friday’s unseasonable temperatures in the 70’s pushed a lot of things into flower and a lot of things out of flower.  If you missed the large sweeps of snowdrops this year then mark it on your calendar for 2012.  If you want to see the March Bank in its “blue phase”, the period when the entire hillside transforms into a blue oasis, then plan on a visit this week and if you can swing it, visit at different times of the day.  The mood of the March Bank changes dramatically between the rising and setting of the sun. The continuous movement and intensity of the sunlight plays off of the rolling nature of the hillside, creating shadows and depth of color in some spaces while highlighting other locations.   Like the Van Gogh painting, a great amount of detail can be viewed from up close—variations in flowers and in foliage color,  but the view from afar is pure drama.  Blue is another color that is difficult to truly capture through the lens; it often can appear more purple in color than what our eyes see. I have witnessed the March Bank in this performance role for 20 years now and no two experiences are alike.  One year the effect lasted for 3 weeks, one year it hardly even made an appearance and one year I witnessed the blue at near sunset and it was electric; this is the moment where I remember the drama and emotion.  I am confident that the lens could not have captured that…

This is a time when the horticulturist who cares for the March Bank takes a deep breath from all of the hard work in preparation for this moment (she does not “tip toe through the tulips”). However, in sections where bulbs such as snowdrops are not part of a successional planting we will divide and transplant the clumps to increase their presence in the garden. Snowdrops (Galanthus) and snowflake (Leucojum) can be divided “in the green” meaning after flower when the foliage is still present. It is recommended with most others bulbs to divide as the foliage is going dormant or in the fall. This may be the best practice but I find that I tend to divide all of my bulbs after flower as it allows me to better visualize their placement. The hastiness on my part may result in a reduction of flower the following year but it is a system that works best for me—otherwise the job may never get done. With gardening tasks we must know thyself!

Winter is neck in neck with autumn as one of my favorite seasons. Spring’s beauty is unrivaled hands down but in the gardening world, is fraught with a hefty to do list and although summer’s long days are invigorating the heat and humidity dampen my enthusiasm. Fall is in a league of its own—cooling temperatures, return of rainfall (this year a little too much) and a symphony of color peaking at the same time. I enjoy and anticipate the time when I can put the garden to bed—especially after a tough gardening year. Autumn though comes with a “beat the clock” mentality; do this before the first frost; do that before the leaves drop; do the other thing before the ground freezes. Then comes winter…ahhhh.

Most people do not like winter—especially gardeners; but not this one. First off, I love the cold. I like to play a game with Mother Nature—her cold temperatures vs. smart layering of clothing. Sorry Mother Nature but wool, fleece and down win! Winter provides for me what most who garden relish; time for quiet contemplation. It makes one have to search for beauty and savor it—the long, narrow shadows in a forest, silhouettes of plants, still, sunny days, the emergence of flowers that brave the cold temperatures, and the ever so slight increments in daylight. For those who have experienced it there is nothing like walking through a woodland filled with beech and seeing the lowering sun shine through the persistent, tawny colored leaves. And let us not forget the wonderful muffled silence of a heavy snowfall.

Winter is filled with all of the structure and beauty of a garden without the distraction of color or the cloak of leaves. It allows us to see the bones of a garden—as if we were viewing a picture in black and white—to see its composition and what makes it good or what it might need to make it better. For most plants it is a perfect time for corrective pruning since the framework can be easily viewed and without haste. It is a time when we allow our brains instead of our bodies do the work; browsing plant catalogs, attending lectures, reading gardening books for more than 15 minutes at a time—all this without a nagging, never ending chore list hanging over our heads (except for the one that we create for ourselves for the springtime).

For many the winter is far too long but for me it goes by much too quickly, especially at Winterthur where the garden comes alive so early in the winter. For those who need that first shot of “spring” a few snowdrops have popped throughout the garden (I won’t tell you where so you’ll have hunt for them) and the winter jasmine had already started is sporadic flowering. I however am going to divert my eyes to these “signs of spring” and bask in the quiet off season.

One of the best things about working here is the pleasure of the garden. The winter jasmine is in bloom now. It has been hanging down the staircase wall since 1931. A special soil well was created within the wall. There is also a nice clump of snowdrops blooming on the East Terrace. If you feel adventurous there are a sprinkling of them blooming on the March Bank.

Each spring I look forward to the flowering of the snowdrops (Galanthus spp.) and also to the task of dividing some of the larger clumps. There are a couple schools of thought of when the best time is to divide them, some say “in the green” just after flowering and others prefer to wait until the leaves start to die back. For the past ten years I have been doing it “in the green” and now have thousands of bulbs.

The images above show the process from flowering in-ground to digging to separating to the individual bulbs. Every year when I first see the tangle of roots I wonder “how am I going to get these apart”. I start off with gently removing as much soil as possible and then slowly but firmly pull sections apart. Yes, you will tear some roots but the bulbs survive. Once I have the smaller sections I use my fingers to gently tease the roots apart. This is where fingernails come in handy.

I prefer to do this work on cool days and out of the sun. I also immediately replant the bulbs and water them. The leaves, without the support of the clump, will most likely lie flat on the ground. That’s okay. They will be fine for next year.