At Montrose, we are always waiting for autumn for the reasons all gardeners do: the lowering sun, the cooling air, the breath of wind. But we wait especially for the fall blooming bulbs that define our gardens. Weeding, planting, and spreading mulch in the summer heat is brutal, so thankfully we do not have to wait long for the fall bulbs to reward our patience. They always begin by late July with the diminutive but noble, Prospero autumnale. Our autumn blooms actually begin as early as May if we count a few precocious Cyclamen hederifolium in the woods.

Prospero autumnale

The late summer showing of bulbs includes the incomparably elegant Zephyranthes smallii and its reliable chorus ensemble of other zephyranthes species, especially Z. ‘Labuffarosea',’ Z. drummondii, and Z. candida. These late summer rain lilies bloom a few days after each August rainstorm. By late August, Prospero autumnale has faded, but is replaced by the delicate snowflakes of Acis autumnalis. Acis brighten the lawn around the big Cedrus deodara and Cyclamen graecum bloom at the base of its trunk.

Zephyranthes smallii

Acis autumnalis

Moving into September, the sequence of our fall bulbs becomes less predictable as they (and we) wait for rain. One exception is the clockwork reliability of the colchicum plantings. The various colchicum species and hybrids, collectively and confusingly called “autumn crocuses,” bloom before their bulbs push out roots or leaves. For us, this means the colchicum bed makes a perfect show whether there is rain or not.

Colchicum sp.

This year, mild weather and good rain has broken recent years’ rhythm of harsh September heat and drought. The rain brought early shows of Lycoris radiata var. pumila, Lycoris x albiflora, Sternbergia sicula, and a flush of Rhodophiala bifida.

Rhodophiala bifida

Throughout July, August, and September, masses of Cyclamen hederifolium break dormancy all over Montrose. By early September, they always seem to be at their peak, only to put up more flowers with each passing day.

Now in mid-September, Lycoris radiata, a familiar heirloom left by the Graham family, is blooming along the fence, behind the boxwood border, and in our newest mass planting in the woods. Sternbergia lutea, spurred by last week’s rain, emerges by the hour. As we hurry to weed and prune and tidy the garden before our open day on October fifth, we look forward to next month’s shows of Crocus speciosus, Cyclamen cilicium, Galanthus reginae-olgae, and G. peshmenii. Our admiration for the season’s bulbs is perfumed by Osmanthus fragrans, Hedychium coronarium, and the burnt caramel of Cercidiphyllum japonicum. We look forward to sharing our fall gardens with you!

Sternbergia lutea

Lycoris radiata

After weeks of seasonably cool weather and regular soaking rains, Christmas day was cloudy and mild.  Textbook December weather brought forth many of our most loved winter flowers; quite different from last year’s Christmas cold snap that froze many blooms and buds.  Of particular note this year were the many perfect blooms from one of the older plantings of Narcissus romieuxii.  We look forward to future Christmases with mass plantings of these nodding, straw yellow, hoop-petticoat daffodils.

Flowers

Camellia japonica (many!)

Chaenomeles ‘Crimson and Gold’, ‘Chojubai’

Chimonanthus praecox, yellow semi-double; species

Crocus sieberi, C. imperati

Cyclamen hederifolium, C. coum, C. cilicium

Daphne, variegated

Edgeworthia chrysantha 

Erica carnea, pink, white, E. x darleyensis ‘Arthur Johnson’, E. x ‘Silbershmelze’, pink

Edgeworthia chrysantha ‘Snowcream’

Galanthus elwesii, G. e. “Sandra Lutz”, G. e. var. monostictus 

Helleborus foetidus, H. argutifolius, H. x sternii, H. niger, H. x media, H. x nigercors, H. orientalis, H. x hybridus

Iris unguicularis

Enemion biternatum

Jasminum nudiflorum

Loropetalum chinense var. rubrum, and seedlings

Magnolia x ‘Sandra’, M. x ‘Donna’

Mahonia x lindsayae, M. napaulensis ‘Grayswood hybrid’, M. x media, ‘Arthur Menzies’, ‘Winter Sun’, ‘Charity’, ‘Lionel Fortescue’

Narcissus panizzianus, N. romieuxii

Osmanthus fragrans 

Phlox subulata, white, purple, pink

Primula vulgaris, hose-in-hose, yellow

Rosmarinus officinalis, 2 forms

Spiraea thunbergii, yellow leaved

Verbena canadensis, white, purple, red

Berries or Fruit

Belamcanda chinensis

Berberis thunbergii

Danae racemosa

Hedera helix ‘Poetica Arborea’

Ilex vomitoria, I. x attenuata, I. decidua ‘Pocahontas’, ‘Council Fire’, ‘Finch’s Gold’, I. opaca

Iris foetidissima

Juniperus chinensis

Nandina domestica, yellow or red berries

Poncirus trifoliata ‘Flying Dragon’, yellow fruit

Pyracantha

Rohdea japonica

Roses with fruit

Ruscus aculeatus

Symphoricarpos orbiculatus

There are frosts and then there are frosts. The moment our final visitor leaves after Fall Garden Open Day, we begin agonizing over mobile weather apps. This one predicts it will be thirty-nine degrees in Hillsborough and thirty-seven in Rougemont (usually the temperature at Montrose falls somewhere between the two predictions). This app calls for a frost at 6:15 a.m., but only for ten minutes before the sun begins to rise. This says the low for Wednesday is twenty-eight degrees, but does that mean in the night after Tuesday or in the early morning before Thursday? We check, worry, check again, and discuss.  This year, the first chance of frost came with a forecast as low as thirty-nine degrees on October 8th.  Thankfully it never went below forty. Nevertheless, we were chastened, and we began our preparations.  

At Montrose, our plantings include hundreds of taxa that are either tender to our winters, or marginally hardy, meaning they may or may not survive depending on the severity of the winter. This collection was built one plant at a time over decades. Eclectic in its constitution, it ranges from rare, exotic plants grown from seeds traded long ago, to garden center bedding plants that we love and cannot count on being able to buy again. The collection is sprawling and irreplaceable. Every year it must be preserved before the arrival of a killing frost.

This year, like every year, we began by putting furcraeas and agaves in the greenhouse. These plants would not be harmed by the light frosts of mid-autumn, but their large size and eye-stabbing leaves require that we settle them in their places before filling the greenhouses with more tender plants. 

Once the agaves were in, it was off to the races. We dismantled the sunny beds, digging tibouchinas, durantas, cupheas, begonias, alternantheras, and many others from the garden. We potted them up, then pruned them back to allow for the flow of air and light in the greenhouse. We dug and potted dozens of salvias, and took cuttings of many more. We grow over eighty types of salvia at Montrose, and each one that is not fully hardy must find its winter home in our greenhouses or cold frames. We keep one greenhouse at fifty degrees, the other at forty, our deep cold frames, dug several feet into the ground, never go below twenty-eight degrees. The most tender specimens are kept under LED lights in the basement. As we prepare each plant, we sort it into the place where it will best survive the winter.

Returned predictions of frost spurred us on. We dug, and potted, and packed until dusk each night, then began again each morning. It seems that every year, no matter when we start this project, we always have just enough time. After a couple light frosts that did no damage, we finally had our cold night last Wednesday, November 1st. The temperature dipped to the mid-twenties and by Thursday morning, dahlias, coleus, and tender salvias were black, and hanging down pitifully.

As with everything in the garden, death always means new life. The frost sparkled on the silver dianthus leaves at dawn. Our Galanthus reginae-olgae and G. peshmenii are already at the peak of their bloom. G. elwesii has begun to show its first flowers. Cyclamen cilicium is in bloom and C. hederifolium has spread its lovely, varied leaves. Our summer work is done, and we are at peace again.

Spring is always a busy time for gardeners. Everything needs to be done at once. The longer hours of sunlight, gentle rains, and warming soil bring plants into vigorous growth (including the weeds!).

The last few weeks at Montrose were especially busy as we prepared for our annual Spring Garden Open Day. We weeded and mulched, we planted and pruned, and then we weeded some more. Consistent rains kept the poppies, larkspur, and nigella growing. The cool weeks of this year's April helped slow the opening of their blossoms. Finally, in early May, it turned hot and sunny and everything burst into bloom. It was the best year for roses in our memory. By the morning of our open day, the spring garden was at its peak.

Each gardener at Montrose has their own relationship with the garden. We each have our favorite little corners and we cherish peaceful, solitary hours working in them. Suddenly, on garden open days, we open the gates and have the bewildering experience of hundreds of people cheerfully tromping along our quiet paths. This year's attendance was the highest in recent history, and we've never had such a goodnatured, jolly crowd. Old friends came to talk about memories and plants and many people came to visit for the first time. It was a long, tiring day with questions to answer, minor crises to avert, and bustling plant sales in the nursery.

Coming back to the garden on Monday, we all noticed the return of silent calm. The roses and poppies were slightly past their peak, but still overwhelmingly lovely. The nursery had to be set back in order. Tender plants had to be brought out of the basement and the greenhouses. The promise of rain spurred us to plant perennials we had propagated last year. We gratefully returned to the pace the garden sets for us. 

We close the gardens for the summer while we collect seeds from the annuals and plant tender species in the flowerbeds. We will enjoy the hot, quiet months ahead, and we look forward to welcoming all of you back in the Fall!

Bitter cold was forecast for Christmas eve and Christmas day, so when I woke on December 24, and saw that there would be no thawing for at least another day, I decided to walk through the garden and list the plants with flowers or berries frozen in place.  Nothing had changed when I completed the walk the next day.  When the thaw finally came, I was most surprised by the daffodils whose flowers maintained their color and form, while their stems had collapsed onto the ground.

8° Fahrenheit

Fruits or Berries

Belamcanda chinensis 

Berberis thunbergii

Cornus sanguinea (for bright stems)

Danae racemosa

Hedera helix ‘Poetica Arborea’, Hedera helix “tiny form” in rock garden

Hollies: Ilex vomitoria, I. x attenuata, I. decidua ‘Finch’s Yellow’, I. opaca

Mahonia x media ‘Charity’, ‘Lionel Fortescue’, ‘Winter Sun’, ‘Underway’, ‘Arthur Menzies’

Nandina domestica 

Rohdea japonica

Rosa, several with rose hips (red & white garden, along Moonlight Walk) 

Ruscus aculeatus

Symphoricarpos orbiculatus 

Viburnum fragrans, pink

Flowers

Chaenomeles x supurba ‘Crimson and Gold’

Chimonanthus praecox ‘Luteus’

Crocus sieberi

Cyclamen coum

Erica x darleyensis, E. x ‘Silberschmelze’, E. carnea white

Galanthus elwesii, G. e. “Sandra Lutz”, G. e. var. monostictus

Helleborus foetidus, H. x hybridus, H. niger

Phlox subulata

Primula vulgaris, P. v. hose-in-hose

Narcissus romieuxii, N. r. ssp. albidus, N. “old yellow trumpet”, N. panizzianus, N. bulbocodium 

Verbena canadensis, pinky purple, white

Viola cornuta

The fragrance of Chimonanthus praecox provides the atmosphere of Montrose in January. Faintly present in the morning, an enveloping perfume on sunny afternoons, it is a scent that immediately becomes part of who you are. Commonly called wintersweet, it sweetens the winter for anyone wise enough to plant it. The specific epithet, praecox, describes its precocious blooms that always seem to open before you expect them.

After the hustle and delay of holiday time, the Chimonanthus praecox 'Luteus' along the driveway welcomes us back into quiet January. The smell is gentle, but spiced. It is something that you cannot remember ever not knowing. And when it returns to the garden, it is hard to believe that it won't always be with us. 

That is the nature of winter in our garden. We are continually awed by miracles that appear in the places where we always look for them. The graceful, white crescendo of Helleborus niger builds and builds. Precious snowdrops appear at the bases of large trees throughout the woods.  Narcissus romieuxii braves the cold in its pale yellow petticoats and its sister, Narcissus bulbocodium, won't be far behind. Crocuses in many colors confound our memories as we search our notes for their botanical names. And several times a day we kneel to examine a newly perfect jewel of Cyclamen coum.

The gardeners of Montrose take holidays, get sick, travel far to support suffering loved ones, and then they return. The plants of Montrose also return in their own time and encourage our efforts in the garden.

People ask what we do when summer arrives. After the explosion of spring annuals fades, we close the garden to visitors. The days turn humid and the sun glares more strongly, so we put on broad brimmed hats and continue our work. We welcome this quiet interlude of June and July.

First there were seeds to collect. There's nothing more important than collecting and keeping seeds for next year. We marked the most desirable poppy and larkspur plants with string and collected their seeds as they ripened. Then we began clearing the beds for new planting. This is hot, methodical work that takes many weeks. We prepare the ground for tender salvias, our favorite colors of lantana, tropical plants of all kinds, and annuals that will bloom through summer and into fall. We weed and plant, plant and water, water and spread mulch.

© Allison Donnelly

As we work, we watch and wait. We wait for breezes to dry the sweat from our backs, we wait for rain to bring the new plantings into growth, and most of all, we wait for signs of change in the season. These signs come sooner than we expect. By the middle of July, the last of the spring bulb plants have gone down. The buds swell and open on the Lillium michauxii in the woods. Prospero autumnale comes into bloom below the Cedrus deodora on the front lawn. Mostly middle purples, we dig and pot the prospero plants with blooms tending to white or pink, hoping for true whites and true pinks in the future. We long to finish our work in the sun so we can return to the woods where Cyclamen purpurascens is already in full bloom and Cyclamen hederifolium shows more flowers each week.

This summer, like last summer, we continued our most exciting new planting. A collection of magnolias, given by our friend Tom Krenitsky. The trees will line the western edge of the field by the entrance to Montrose. The collection includes exotic species, favorite cultivars, and selected hybrids resulting from crosses Tom has worked on for decades. Unlike other trees which we plant in autumn and spring, Tom advises us to plant magnolias in the heat. This allows their roots to settle and grow into warm summer soil before they face their first winter. As we, and the new trees, stand in the harsh July sun, we welcome each rainfall. Now we look forward to the storms of August and September and the mild weather that must follow.

The beginning of May was a bustling time at Montrose. Plants tucked carefully into the greenhouses and cold frames for winter had to be put out in the fresh air. Ripening seeds from winter flowering plants (hellebores, cyclamen, primroses, snowdrops, Enemion biternatum, Anemone blanda, Hyacinthus orientalis, and others) had to be collected. But most of all, the garden had to be prepared for our first Spring Garden Open Day in three years.

We watched as buds swelled on the roses and poppies, trying to divine which weekend would offer the most splendor for our open day. When we finally set the date for May 21, we accelerated our efforts.  We organized and reorganized the nursery to offer as many choice plants for sale as possible.  We pruned, weeded, and spread mulch in each section of the garden.

While hurrying diligently through our spring tasks, we watched the skies for rain that never came. We began to worry that our show of May flowers would reflect the inadequate showers of this year’s April. Sure-bet storm predictions never materialized. The radar showed us rains that fell to our west, and then to our east, but never on the flowerbeds of Hillsborough. 

Nevertheless, the plants of Montrose extended their roots into our loamy soil, reaching what moisture there was. Digitalis, penstemon, nigella, verbascum, larkspur, poppies, and roses burst into bloom and held their flowers through a rainless heatwave. Garden Open Day itself was above ninety degrees, and though some of the gardeners wilted by the afternoon, the plants did not. 

The Monday following Garden Open Day, we came to Montrose with rested limbs and refreshed vision.  No longer occupied with worries over our human-scheduled event. We felt again the life of the garden unspooling its own, more trusty, calendar before us. We had plenty of work to do, but we let the garden, rather than our anxieties, prioritize our list of tasks.

As if to prove the universal rule of watched pots, the skies opened on Monday afternoon and all the water we had wanted came at once. Our copper rain pots filled and spilled over, a gulley opened in the gravel driveway, our clothes were soaked through. By morning, four inches of rain had fallen, and a section of the deer fence had been washed out. The garden dripped gold and green and we continued our work.

It takes four years to make a garden, or maybe forty, but probably four hundred or more.  Many plants grow quickly, some of the best grow slow.  In Shakespeare’s, Richard II, the gardener advises to “Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays / That look too lofty in our commonwealth.”  In the historical play, the gardener’s speech is understood metaphorically as instruction for the limiting of tyranny.  But the meat of metaphors is in the natural world, and all gardeners, Shakespearean or otherwise, know that most plants require periodic curtailment.

February at Montrose is a time to even out the growth of some of our favorite plantings.  All the roses must be pruned.  The more modest, sweetly growing ones are tipped back and given a side-dressing of fertilizer to encourage their progress.  The old climbers however, whose astounding blooms cover our arbors in May, must be reduced by half lest their monstrous growth overwhelm both their own beauty and their neighbors’.

This year we dedicated more time to restoring balance in the garden.  Many lespedezas, which had taken over large areas, were removed outright.  One chamaecyparis, originally planted for its unusual color and delicate leaf shape, had reverted to a larger, less interesting form.  Over the years it had grown to a thirty-foot behemoth and encroached into the May garden, shading roses and paeonias with its vigor.  After a drastic reduction of that tree, we went on to the barberries.  Some we carefully trimmed, but others we cut to the ground to allow fresh growth to match the scale of their surroundings.  Cornus sanguinea, the jewel of our bare, winter tropical garden, got the same treatment.  We hope its blazing color will be refreshed by our lopping.

Herbaceous plants also need to be controlled. Perennially we dig out beautiful hellebores and epimediums where they’re not wanted. Now, after many years, we must even remove Cyclamen hederifolium when it crowds other cherished plants. Eranthis hyemalis, once lending its yellow February blooms to the purple crocuses in our amphitheater, now smothers slower and more delicate treasures. We dig it up tuber by tuber, careful to leave emerging trilliums and other bulbs in place. As the exhilarating growth of early spring begins, we must moderate the pace with our thoughts on future seasons.

What does a gardener do when the ground is white with snow and the temperature is below freezing?  There are many options including cleaning the house or the potting room.  We settled on the latter.  Our potting room is in an 1835 kitchen built about ninety feet from the main house.  The outside walls are faced with early twentieth century tiles.  There is one room downstairs, with large ceiling beams supported by sister beams.  We turned on our little gas heater and began.

We removed stones, broken pots, and miscellaneous notes to ourselves and others.  We sorted dental tools (used for delicate weeding and root manipulation) from pollinating paintbrushes and other cutting, transplanting, and digging tools.  We found dried up seeds among to-do lists from years back and photographs that should have been destroyed before viewing!  We found pots of various sizes filled with paper clips, broken plant labels, and bits of unreadable paper.  There were shelves containing ancient knee pads hard as rocks, plastic containers that disintegrated before our eyes, and others meant for fertilizers but with mysterious contents and illegible labels.

Gardeners and would-be archeologists, we marveled at treasures that had been unearthed in the garden, then brought into the potting room and forgotten.  There were broken shards of beautiful crockery, bits of old children’s toys, part of an antique lock, and a tin that had once contained “Tube Rose Scotch Snuff” (which we learned by taking a graphite rubbing of the rusted lid).  There were also natural treasures: blue jay, cardinal, and woodpecker feathers; leathery blacksnake eggs that had been laid and hatched in a bag of potting mix; and a bird’s nest on a high shelf that may have been put there by a gardener or perhaps by the wren herself.  A small, sweet, early-blooming Primula vulgaris and a pot of Helleborus niger seedlings waited patiently by a window to be planted out in milder weather.

We sorted plastic bags of almost every size, some used but still usable and a few brand new ones.  On the opposite shelf were our reference books and notebooks.  Two shelves contained the personal notes belonging to each volunteer and employee.  We hung new shelves behind one of the potting benches and quickly filled them.  A few insect, snake, and other corpses puzzled us, as did decaying watering devices and a digital clock that read “12:70.” 

By the end of the day our noses were filled with dust and our minds were fuzzy with identifying and sorting objects.  But when we went out into the fresh air and came back in, we were in a new potting room.  This was NOT like opening presents on Christmas Day.  This was like moving day.

Flowers

Asarum nipponicum 

Camellia japonica, many colors

Chaenomeles ‘Crimson and Gold’, ‘Chojubai’, ‘Cameo’

Chimonanthus praecox ‘Luteus’ plus 4  more forms

Chrysanthemum ‘Golden Lida Thomas’, Gelsemium sempervirens, G. s. ‘Pride of Augusta’, G. s. pale yellow, G. s. ‘Sunshine’

Chrysogonum virginianum

Crocus sieberi, C. imperati ‘de Jager’, C. longiflorus, C. laevigatus

Cyclamen coum, C. c. “Roger Poulet”, C. hederifolium, C. cilicium

Daphne x transatlantica ‘Summer Ice’

Enemion biternatum

Erica carnea, pink, white,  E. x darleyensis ‘Arthur Johnson’, E. x ‘Silbershmelze’

Forsythia suspensa

Galanthus elwesii, G. e. ‘Sandra Lutz’, G. e. var. monostictus, G. plicatus ‘Three Ships’

Helleborus niger (many forms), H. argutifolius, H. a. (Corsican form), H. x sternii

Iris unguicularis ‘Walter Butt’, other forms

Jasminum nudiflorum

Knautia arvensis

Loropetalum chinensis

Mahonia unnamed seedlings, M. x media ‘Charity’, ‘Lionel Fortescue’, ‘Winter Sun’, ‘Underway’, ‘Arthur Menszies’, M. confusa ‘Narihira’

Narcissus romieuxii, N. romieuxii ssp. albidus, old yellow trumpet, N. panizzianus 

Osmanthus fragrans

Phlox subulata, pink, purple, blue 

Prunus subhirtella ‘Autumnalis’

Primula x polyantha

Salvia rosmarinus

Spiraea thunbergii, white, pink, yellow

Verbena canadensis, pinky purple, white

Viburnum farreri, pink

Vinca minor

Berries or Fruit

Belamcanda chinensis

Berberis thunbergii

Danae racemosa

Fatsia japonica

x Fatshedera

Hedera helix ‘Poetica Arborea’, tiny form in rock garden

Ilex vomitoria, I. x attenuata (Savannah Holly), I. cornuta, I. decidua ‘Pocahontas’, I. d. ‘Council Fire’, I. d. ‘Finch’s Golden’, 

seedlings, I. opaca, I. x  ‘Carolina Cardinal’, I. opaca yellow berries

Iris foetidissima 

Juniperus at southeast corner of greenhouse

Nandina domestica, red or yellow berries

Poncirus trifoliata ‘Flying Dragon’ 

Pyracantha

Rohdea japonica

Rhodotypos scandens

Ruscus aculeatus

Symphoricarpos orbiculatus

The new year has begun.  No, we are not confused by the calendar; we look at the garden and see fresh growth on cyclamen, daffodils, sternbergias and many other genera that prefer (as we do) cooler weather.  Osmanthus fill the air with their spicy fragrance.  We leave our chores to stand near them and absorb their incredible scent.  Cercidiphyllum japonicum, the katsura tree near the sunny garden, drops its fragrant leaves from late summer until fall, we have enjoyed them for months.  

We work slowly through the fall gardens looking for tender plants, such as alpinias, agaves, and our favorite tender annuals to dig and bring inside.  As we go, we are distracted by many bulbs just beginning to bloom, some with leaves but many without. Narcissus papyraceus subsp. panizzianus, our earliest flowering daffodil, has fully grown gray-green leaves.  We grew it from seed years ago and finally had the courage to plant the bulbs in the garden.  Now we see and smell them in November, usually around Thanksgiving.  

Sternbergias were among our stars on Garden Open Day in early October.  A few sternbergia blossoms remain, growing near the saffron crocus, Crocus sativus, and beneath the metasequoias.  Clusters of Galanthus reginae-olgae have increased, inspiring our vision of future mass plantings.  Galanthus peshmenii, also blooming, is distinguished by the emerging glaucous leaves that accompany its flowers.   

New crocuses appear daily beneath the metasequoias.  They grow throughout the lawn and as far away as the Dianthus Walk. One of the most prolific is Crocus caspius, a species with delicate, near white flowers and pale pink on the backs of their petals.  Many of these crocuses also grow in the woods where Cyclamen hederifolium continues to bloom with masses of flowers in shades of near burgundy to pure white. The rock garden is home to Crocus speciosus, one of the larger flowered species, with flowers in shades of blue-purple.  Many of these plants are seedlings from a small sack of bulbs we planted more than thirty years ago.  The white form grows along the cyclamen path in the woods where we also see the slender leaves of winter-flowering Narcissus romieuxii ssp. albidus.  

As we don warmer layers, and our days shift to cool season tasks, we are delighted daily by the return of long dormant plants.  Flowers continue to emerge throughout this new season.  Fall is the beginning of our gardening year.

As August comes to its peak of heat and humidity, we hope to find signs of fall in the garden.  The days are noticeably shorter although early mornings are still light enough to see without a flashlight.  We never forget about colchicums.  In fact, whenever we visit that section of the boxwood border in August, we are really in search of a precocious flower.  Failing to find that, we settle down and pull weeds.  This weedy year we couldn’t have seen a flower under the grasses that were smothering all the small plants that inhabit that area, but before the month was over, our first and earliest colchicum, C. autumnale, appeared at the back of the bed. The first thing we saw was a pointed, soft pink bud barely visible at soil level.  By the next day it had evolved into a cup-shaped flower.  Its neighbors followed in quick succession as more flowers appeared day after day until by the second week in September our garden was, and still is, full of clusters of blooms in many shades of pink and white.

Colchicums have unusual ways of coming back into growth.  They bloom before their roots grow, making them easy to divide and spread without fear of disturbing them.  As soon as they appear, we can separate and plant them throughout the garden in sunny areas as well as shade.   Although most of our species have white or medium pink flowers, we have one species, C. variegatum, with an almost violet flower.  Because they flower without roots, they don’t need water to bring them into bloom.  This year, that is a blessing.  Deer and other foraging critters ignore them for, as members of the amaryllis family, they are poisonous.  

At Montrose colchicums join cyclamen, acis, and spider lilies in declaring fall is here. Sometimes mistaken for fall-blooming crocuses, colchicums can be easily distinguished by their six stamens (crocuses have only three). Fortunately, the arrival of winter isn’t the end of the colchicum display. C.hungaricum ‘Valentine’ appears in February, and thus far has never been harmed by cold weather. Our small greenhouse is home to several of the smaller species including C. neapolitanum macranthum and pusillum. In earlier days, we used to find and buy colchicums lying dry and often in bloom on garden center shelves. Now it is best to buy them from mail order nurseries.

We had a perfect rain on Saturday.  Small raindrops were falling early in the morning, but by 8:30 we had constant medium drops and no thunder, lightning, or strong gusts of wind.  I took time out to sit on the porch just to listen as the gutters sputtered and the rain containers filled and overflowed.  

By mid-afternoon the sun was out and the garden refreshed. The leaves had turned down and released the final drops of water.  I went outside to walk through the gardens, now glistening in the afternoon light. As I walked across the field toward the pond, I noticed a slender, tall tree with brilliant white flowers with red petioles, and glistening, dark green leaves.  I saw many butterflies hovering over the flowers. Could it be? I wondered whether this glorious tree was  Emmenopterys henryi, planted in the early 1980s, which had finally bloomed.  Sure enough, near the Sequoia sempervirens, the emmenopterys was in full bloom. It brought back memories of planting this tree with its reputation for taking “forever” to produce flowers, but also for living perhaps a thousand years. Forty years is not forever, and seeing the flowers was worth the years of waiting.

We purchased the final part of this land in the early 1980s and that completed the parcel that had become Montrose in 1798. I decided to add special trees to the edges of the fields— trees that would live long after I died.  I bought the sequoia and the emmenopterys at the same time from Kai Mei Parks who had recently opened Camellia Forest Nursery in Chapel Hill.  She told me I would have to wait a long time to see flowers on the emmenopterys, but time was no problem for me in the 1980s.  I still feel the same way and continue to plant seeds of trees that take long to germinate and even longer to mature. As the climate changes, we live with the uncertainty of what change will mean for the trees and for us. We do not know if our emmenopterys will live its full thousand years.  But we continue our work, trusting that nature rewards diligent patience.

Weeds are here!  They took the place of poppies, dianthus, nigella, and larkspur (Consolida ajacis) making this the least attractive season in our garden, and so we close for tours until fall.  Because we must wait for desirable seeds to ripen to produce next year’s spring display, we slowly begin our revision of each bed. Weeds take advantage of this “slow season” and continue to grow, also ripening their seeds. Because we are always thinking of next year, collecting the seeds is an act of faith—faith that we will get good germination next fall, that spring rains will come at just the right times, and that the display will meet our expectations.  We organize our favorite annuals by the color of their flowers (red, deep purple, burgundy, raspberry, blue, pink, and white)—and race the birds for the seeds. 

As we collect  ripe seeds, we get close to the ground to pull or dig the accompanying weeds.  There is no lovelier sound than that of a weed as the soil releases its roots.  This is a slow but rewarding experience, and although we cover relatively small areas, we can smell the earth, evaluate everything else which grows nearby, plan for the next stage in summer, and imagine a successful fall finale.  Not everything we remove goes into the compost pile. The really pesky weeds are  dumped on a brush pile which will not be recycled into the garden.  As we finish section by section, we plant summer perennials, some of which are too tender to survive a winter outside and others we are growing for the first time.  This gives us a chance to correct the problems of last year. The process is slow because we know the importance of remembering plants not yet above ground, e.g. bulbs which bloom later in summer, and we think critically about last year.  Because our garden is organized by color and season with attention to the amount of available sun or shade, each part has its own character and problems, not the least of which are their neighboring sections. We often think we understand the design and function of the various parts best when viewed at a distance, so we step outside the garden itself and try to imagine the entire picture. By early fall, we usually realize our successes and mistakes and say to each other—well, there’s always next year.

By the end of May, our long views down the terraces of the woods garden are difficult to imagine.  The canopy has filled out and we are walled in green as we walk along the forest paths.  In the fall and winter we walked these paths slowly.  We stooped frequently to observe the blooms of cyclamen, hellebores, primroses, and the many other plants that delight us during cool months.  On those chilly walks we carried paintbrushes to hand-pollinate species and forms whose populations we hope to increase.  Now, in the heat, we hurry down the paths checking our favorite plants for ripe seeds.

A Cyclamen coum f. albissimum, whose pure white flowers we could once spot from fifty feet, now is difficult to find as it enters dormancy.  We gently search the ground near the center of the plant for its fruits which ripen on tightly coiled stems.  If we arrive too late, the fruit will have opened and ants will have carried off the precious, sugar-covered seeds.  We rush to our best old primroses, who themselves seem to be rushing to produce their seeds before the harsh summer weather drives the plants underground.   

Each afternoon, we return to the potting room bearing our harvest.  We alphabetize our envelopes of seeds and discuss best sowing methods.  The relentless bustle of spring weeding, planting, and mulching takes most of our time, but we dream of winter plants even as the garden erupts around us with poppies and roses.  The cycle of the garden year keeps us in the past, present, and future at once.  The same week we are harvesting seeds from several cyclamen species, Cyclamen purpurascens is just beginning to bloom.  Is it the last species in that genus to flower, or the first? 

February is our best month for winter flowers.  Just after we turned the page on the calendar, we noticed a major change in the number and variety of flowers in bloom.  Tiny crocuses brighten the rock garden.  Most of them are Crocus tommasinianus  with creamy white exteriors and mostly violet interiors.  They are joined by forms of Cc. biflorus, chrysanthus and hybrids from these species.  The mid-season snowdrops are at their annual peak, with large clumps and groups of many forms of Galanthus nivalis, some of which are double and the others are single forms with unusual markings.  As with the early snowdrops, we dig the large, compact clumps and divide and plant them immediately in other areas. Cyclamen coum covers several areas with its magenta, pink, or white flowers with twisted or flung back petals and leaves that are dark green, silver, or a combination of both. The fragrances of mahonias and chimonanthus accompany us on our daily walks and, if we really get down on our knees, we can smell some of the small flowers.  Each day brings forth more hellebore flowers.  As we walk through and discuss which forms and species we want to propagate, we keep on saying, “I think that is my favorite.”  Daffodils seem to be saying, “Hey, look at me.”  The early bloomers are still fresh and have been joined by many forms which are bent to the earth in the frozen air of the night, but which are upright as soon as they thaw. 

We aren’t just walking around smelling the flowers, we are beginning one of the most important and often neglected jobs of the year.  We are pruning the roses, beginning with the most challenging one—the Cherokee rose.  Just cutting out the old canes and draping them over the arbor doesn’t do it.  We are rebuilding one of the cedar structures, which is one of our most beautiful ones, designed and built about 25 years ago by Wayne Hall. We wander through the woods and select those cedar limbs that have the arching shape we want and then replace the old, decayed ones piece by piece.

Gardening in winter requires a belief in the future.  Often in early morning frost covers the lawn and the grey leaves on the dianthus walk glisten, but by mid-morning the garden looks alive.  Plants, bent low because of the extra weight of ice, straighten and stalks that supported opened flowers do so again.  Crocuses that close at night, open fully as the sun rises. We return to the projects of the week, which at this season are mostly in the woods.  We pull unwanted trees in the maple garden.  We remove ivy from trees by pulling, digging or cutting. And, this year, we began to restore our first hellebore slope.  After only a few years of neglect, several paths were invisible, covered with ivy, creeping charlie, and unwanted hellebore seedlings.  Slowly we found the hidden cedar logs, which border the paths and cleared off the weedy growth.  A plant in the wrong place really is a weed!  As we have done in years past, we resolved to cut off all seed stalks from most hellebores.  Our excitement came as we rediscovered plants, we believed had been crowded out of the garden. 

We exclaimed over the emerging tips of mid-season snowdrops and found daffodils already above ground and in bloom.  Clumps of daffodils in the lawn, on a south-facing slope, and in the rock garden have flowers and more buds ready to open.  We pollinated our favorite forms, expecting to increase our display more quickly and perhaps find some variation in form and color by sowing the seeds when ripe.  By the end of most days we have visited all of our gardens accompanied by the incredible fragrance of Chimonanthus praecox.

Christmas Day came this year with colder than normal temperatures but clear skies. Although I had been warned that the day would be cold, I wasn’t really prepared for the problems that accompanied me on my search for open flowers for my Christmas list.  I couldn’t “write” on my iPhone with gloves on, so I had to reach below three layers of warm clothing to get to my phone which was in a deep, inside pocket to prevent the battery from running down.  This was a minor obstruction and didn’t dampen the joy I felt as I wandered throughout the garden.  Although our very wet soil and above normal temperatures during much of this winter brought forth flowers on many unexpected plants, it also prevented flowers on many of the anticipated ones.  As usual I came inside in order to warm up before visiting each area and by the end of the afternoon I knew that the garden was alive and flourishing during this sad time throughout the world.  Happy New Year.

Berries or Fruit

Berberis thunbergii

Danae racemosa

Hedera helix ‘Poetica Arborea’

Helleborus argutifolius

Ilex x attenuata (“Savannah holly”)

Ilex cornuta

Ilex decidua ‘Pocahontas’, ‘Finch’s Yellow’, seedlings

Ilex opaca

Ilex opaca “Carolina Cardinal”

Ilex vomitoria

Liriope muscari, black berries

Mahonia rhynchospora colorata

Nandina domestica, yellow and red berried forms

Poncirus trifoliata ‘Flying Dragon’

Rohdea japonica

Ruscus aculeatus

Symphoricarpos orbiculatus

Flowers

Camellias, mostly unidentified C. japonica

Chaenomeles ‘Crimson and Gold’, ‘Chojubai’

Chimonanthus praecox

Chrysanthemum ‘Golden Lida Thomas’

Chrysogonum virginianum

Corydalis cheilanthifolia

Crocus laevigatus

Crocus sieberi

Cyclamen cilicium

Cyclamen coum

Cyclamen ex C. x drydenii

Cyclamen hederifolium 

Danae racemosa

Enemion biternatum

Erica carnea, pink, white

Euphorbia x martini

Galanthus elwesii

Galanthus elwesii “Sandra Lutz”

Galanthus elwesii var. monostictus

Galanthus plicatus ‘Three Ships’

Gentiana saponaria

Helleborus argutifolius

Helleborus x ballardiae

Helleborus cyclophyllus

Helleborus foetidus

Helleborus x hybridus

Helleborus multifidus ssp. hercegovinus

Helleborus niger

Helleborus niger x argutifolius (H. x nigercors)

Helleborus orientalis

Helleborus x sternii

Iris unguicularis

Jasminum nudiflorum

Knautia arvensis

Lonicera fragrantissima

Loropetalum chinensis

Mahonia unnamed seedling

Mahonia x media ‘Charity’

Mahonia x media ‘Lionel Fortescue’

Mahonia x media ‘Winter Sun’

Narcissus, several different, early trumpet types

Narcissus ‘Rijnveld’s Early Sensation’

Narcissus panizzianus

Narcissus romieuxii

Narcissus romieuxii ssp albidus

Phlox subulata

Primula vulgaris

Primula polyantha

Prunus subhirtella ‘Autumnalis’

Ranunculus repens

Rudbeckia triloba

Spiraea thunbergii

Spiraea thunbergii ‘Ogon’

Verbena canadensis white, purple, pink

Viburnum plicatum f. tomentosum ‘Summer Snowflake’

Viburnum tinus

Viola tricolor

Viola striata

A white lawn greets me every morning now and hollies filled with red or yellow berries remind us that this season has arrived. After recent days with temperatures in the 60’s we began to worry about the plants, so many of which were blooming ahead of time or past their usual time. We hung wreaths on the gates at the entrance to Montrose as well as a boxwood one on the smoke house and red-berried holly on the barn.

Iris unguicularis has put on a wonderful show with flowers in deep purple/blue as well as soft, delicate blue. Each one seems a miracle. Crocuses continue to produce flowers, just a few of Cc. sieberi and laevigatus plus fat buds on C. imperati while new forms of galanthus appear in every section. Buds on edgeworthia and Chimonanthus fragrans are swollen enough to see their bright yellow color and camellias produce flowers in all shades of red, through pink, to white. Some Mahonias that usually bloom in January are past their peak, Mahonia x media ‘Winter Sun’ and Mahonia x media “Lionel Fortescue’.

Aplectrum hyemale

The beautiful little white-striped orchid, Aplectrum hyemale, appears in expected and unexpected places in the woods and since roses don’t seem to know it is winter, several china roses continue to bloom. We spend our days in the woods, pulling ivy and small, unwanted trees and vines, and talk about the carpet of cyclamen all around us. Sun sets around 5:00 now and it is hard to come inside when so much is happening around us. We usually make one more trip through the woods to look for more signs of growth and yesterday saw the tips of Trillium underwoodii pushing through the soil. What’s next? We don’t know. Winter is a season of wonder.