To Every Thing there is a Season

“You’ve got a bad attitude,” my husband said, that cool autumn day last year as we started to prepare our shrubs for winter weather. He was right. Since moving north from Concord five years ago, I’ve created a pleasing landscape in this old pasture, but I struggle to keep it alive during the harsh winter months, and it makes me grumpy.

The desiccating winds and cold temperatures at 1800 feet above sea level have killed two evergreen trees, a PJM rhododendron, five peonies and several daylilies. We’ve learned to cover the shrubs with particleboard teepees and burlap jackets, leaving us with an ugly yard for six bleak months and no guarantee that our landscaping investment will survive. Last year the wind blew so strong it transformed my creative stake-and-burlap bungalows into tattered flags beating in the crisp winds.

Yes, I had a bad attitude. I love sunshine on my back and warm air lifting my hair. I love the bluebirds, hummingbirds and tree swallows that delight me with their colors and playful flights. I actually saw the tree swallows catch insects in the air this summer. Reducing the insect population by birds rather than mechanical contraptions pleases me, so I planted more trees in our field this year. I hope they will slip into dormancy with adequate water and minerals to help them survive the drying winds and cold winter chill.

Yes, winter challenges my adaptability to North Country living. Every other season brings a feeling of joy and contentment. I am delighted when a grandchild helps to plant the garlic in September, or enjoys a fresh string bean from the vine in August. In October they seek out the biggest pumpkin, and I’m always thrilled when a child likes to ride in the wagon I tow behind my little red riding lawnmower. They giggle, say “cool,” and I feel a touch of machismo. Yeah, I am a strong, cool nana!

But as my plants face another winter, I am filled with concern about my ability to provide proper care for the landscape. The soil freezes so solidly around my granite steps and planters that entire root systems freeze. Two years ago I lost five peonies.

“Peonies don’t freeze,” the catalogues say. “They have centuries of hardy ancestry to help them tough out the cold, even in Siberia or Manchuria.”

“They die in my yard,” I whimper.

I’m reminded of the need for flexibility in life, so I replace dead plants with hardier ones. Canadian growers have developed a hardy climbing rose, with which I replaced two dead clematis (hardy for Zone 3, but not in my yard). The first William Baffin grew with vigor in the warm summer sunshine. Last fall, I covered William’s roots with a foot of good loam after tacking his climbing canes to the ground with landscape staples. The special protection was so successful I added another rose this summer. Was it truly a warmer winter last year? Will the pair continue to thrive?

After making holiday wreaths in November, I covered the ground phlox, thyme and dianthus with a light layer of evergreen boughs nailed to the ground with landscape staples to prevent them from blowing away. That also seemed to work successfully around the painted daisies.

This spring I planted tiny members of the dianthus family called “steppables,” They bloomed with bitty pink carnations in late summer. I hope they’ll spread around the granite walk. They’re rated to survive temperatures to 40 below zero!

Perhaps I’m beginning to recognize the importance of gardening responsively. North Country winters require me to be more mindful of their intensity. If I want to garden here, I must respect the requirements for survival. I remember the warning to prepare adequately for a hiking trip in the wilderness, and I do so without hesitation. I remember the need to water the vegetable garden and all the new plants consistently in the summer sunshine to achieve adequate growth. I am reminded that a successful life is tied to preparedness.

It’s almost time to cover the yard again. I’ll try to have a better attitude this year. I’ll exercise in our new indoor community pool, or force myself out into the bright winter sun on a pair of cross-country skis. I’ll remember the joy of working outside in my gardens, and I’ll begin to prepare for next summer. I’ll remember the real reason I love to garden is the smell of the good earth, the warm winds, the bright sunlight, and the magnificent colors dotting my hillside from each beautiful flower.

And I’ll remember, “To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven. A time to reap and a time to sow.” But most especially, a time to be grateful for my little section of this great earth and the good health to till it.

Brenda Tibbetts, UNH Cooperative Extension Master Gardener

Photo courtesy of Grand Traverse Conservation District