‘Winter Sun’ mahonia (Mahonia x media ‘ Winter Sun’, above) begins to flower late in November and consistently blooms through December, but only rarely into early January. With unusually warm temperatures in December I figured that the flowers would fade more quickly, but at the end of January there are more than a few blooms remaining.

With mild weather the late winter blooming leatherleaf mahonia (Mahonia bealei, above) began to flower very early in January rather than the typical late February. There has been no apparent damage from the ensuing cold nights, though the pace of new flowers opening has slackened. I expect that it will remain in bloom through the middle of March.

In most years winter jasmine (Jasminum nudiflorum, above) will pop into bloom during any period of three or four days of above average temperatures, but I’ve never seen it begin to flower before late January. This year it was flowering in late December, and scattered blooms are likely to continue into late February. Winter jasmine is the rare non-fragrant jasmine, but the arching branches of bright yellow blooms are welcomed in most winters when there are no other flowers.

Vernal witch hazel (Hamamelis vernalis, above) also flowers with a few warm January days, and I’m a bit surprised that only a part of this large shrub is flowering. There are a sufficient number of blooms that the fragrance is noticeable from twenty feet, and if all goes well its blooms and ‘Arnold Promise’ (Hamamelis x intermedia ‘Arnold Promise’, in bud below) and ‘Diane’ will overlap so that the fragrance in the rear garden is inescapable into early March. The hybrid witch hazels showed signs that they would begin to flower several weeks early, but colder temperatures have delayed their blooming, and now they are right on schedule.

In the past several years the hellebores (above and below) have flowered later with snow cover through February, so I was surprised to see swelling buds in late December. Then, one flowered in early January, and a week later several others, with the dark purple flowered types the latest of the bunch. In most years hellebore flowers will persist for several weeks, and I expect that blooms will last longer in the cold (or cool) temperatures of February than in the warming days of March.

Several weeks ago I read that gardeners were disturbed that their snowdrops (Galanthus, below) were blooming, and there was widespread concern that they would be injured in the cold days ahead along with daffodil foliage that had broken the ground by several inches. At the time several of the snowdrops in my garden were showing only a slight indication that the flowers would soon open, and only this week has one flower emerged (hardly early at all).

Several other snowdrops appear ready to bloom in the week ahead, and with several more days of above average temperatures forecast they are likely to flower along with the fragrant winter daphne (Daphne odora ‘Aurea marginata’, below). All these plants were planned to provide some color through the early and late winter, but I didn’t anticipate that there would be a time when there would be flowers every day through the winter. Perhaps this will not happen again, but this year I’ve spent a considerable amount of time wandering through the garden to enjoy it.

To enjoy this wonderful video in fullscreen click on the icon in the lower right of the YouTube screen.

In my garden I’ve planted Vernal witch hazel and red and yellow flowering hybrids (Hamamelis x intermedia ‘Diane’ – red and ‘Arnold’s Promise’ – yellow, below), but not the common witch hazel (Hamamelis virginiana) that is native to much of the eastern United States. Virginia witch hazel flowers in late autumn, but the small blooms are often obscured by the foliage, and it’s wide spreading form and size are not appropriate for my garden. With Vernal and hybrid witch hazels there will often be flowers in the garden from mid to late January into early March, and often these are the only blooms in the garden when the ground is snow covered.

The decision that I was confronted with in planting the Vernal witch hazel, and then the hybrids, was whether to choose strictly based upon whether the plant was native, or to select the one best suited to my garden. In this instance I chose the non-native, but through the same processes of researching the habitat and habit of plants I’ve planted many natives.

My garden is a hodgepodge of native and non-native trees, shrubs, and perennials with a sprinkling of tropicals sunk into the ground for the summer months. I suppose that I’ve planted nearly as many plants that are native to China and Japan as Virginia natives, and I love them all. When I’m interested in adding a plant to my garden I reference as much information about it as possible, including whether it is native to the mid-Atlantic region, but I’m not dissuaded if it’s from some other spot on the map, so long as it is suitable for my garden.

Whenever I get around to checking, I’m always surprised by the number of natives planted in the garden (when I bought on impulse without caring to check on habit or habitat), but there are just as many or more that aren’t. I don’t fault gardeners who insist on planting nothing but natives, though the definition of a native plant can be a bit complicated (and too lengthy to be considered today). I do mind that some hard core believers from one side or the other make claims that are misleading, or plain untrue.

The first thing to get out the way is that native plants are ugly. There’s no reason for this to be true any more than for any other geographical region on the planet, and in fact there are some marvelous plants to be found in our natives. The first trees I planted in my garden twenty some years ago were dogwoods, white and pink flowered selections of the dogwood that is native to most of the eastern United States. The dogwoods were followed by several native redbuds (Cercis canadensis), but at the same time I also planted a European purple leafed beech and the first Japanese maples that have grown to a collection of twenty three varieties.

There’s not a tree in the garden that I favor more than the native dogwood (Cornus florida, above), but I’ve also planted Chinese dogwoods (Cornus kousa, below) and hybrids that are crosses between the native, Pacific dogwood (Cornus nuttali), and Chinese dogwood. Some native plant enthusiasts will claim that natives are tough as nails, resistant to bugs and diseases and impervious to drought and flood, but the native dogwood is bothered by a host of issues and is far more fragile than the non-natives.

To my thinking the choice of plants should be guided more by suitability to the location in the garden than by whether a plant is native or not, but additional consideration should be given to include natives whenever possible. In every case, potentially invasive non-natives should not be planted, but in many areas with disturbed (non-native) conditions natives might not be the ideal choice. I hope that it’s obvious that the typical subdivision lot that has been stripped of trees and native topsoil bears little resemblance to the surrounding native forests and meadows. Finding a suitable native plant for these conditions could be a challenge, and perhaps a non-native will tolerate this environment more easily.

In my experience I’ve seen no evidence to support that non-native plants as a whole require more water than natives, or that they are less resistant to insects or diseases. There are some native plants that are encouraged because they provide habitat or food source for butterflies, or some other critter. For the gardener who is attentive to the needs of wildlife these are a must, but most gardeners should choose plants that meet the size and environmental requirements of the site first, with native or non-natives a secondary consideration.

I’ve counted more than forty native plant species in my garden, and in the next few weeks I’ll feature some of the best, starting with trees, then shrubs, and then on to perennials and vines. There are many that will be splendid additions to your garden.

My wife insists that she’s going to learn how to use a chainsaw to clear out some of the trees in our overcrowded garden, but regardless, I’ve been preparing my annual winter list of plants I can’t live without. The list is getting kinda long, maybe too long, so I’ve got some figuring to do.

I suppose that if I had more than an ounce or two of sense I’d realize there’s no room for another tree, but I’ve been eyeballing a few. There are more dozens of trees in the garden than I care to admit to, and at last count there were twenty-three Japanese maple cultivars.  Some, I’ve planted two or three of, so what’s the harm in adding one more?

On a trip through nurseries in Oregon last summer I saw a Japanese maple with striking white foliage with pink highlights, and immediately I knew I had to have one. I’m certain that I’ve seen the Floating Cloud maple (Acer palmatum ‘Ukigumo’, above) before, but it has not been commonly available through nurseries, and if anyone grew it the small growing maple was likely to be at an extravagant price. Now, its cost has become a bit more affordable, at least to someone with hardly a lick of sense.

Where I’ll plant it is a mystery. I suspect that the creamy white leaves will burn in the summer sun, so the Floating Cloud maple will benefit from some shade, at least in the afternoon. Shade, I have plenty of, so my primary concern will be finding a spot with a bit of sunlight where the soil isn’t choked with roots from the poplars and swamp maples that border the garden. Will it have adequate space? No, but I’ll be happy in the meanwhile and I’ll worry about that in another ten years.

I’ve already ordered a Dove tree (Davidia involucrata, above) though I’ve not nearly enough space to plant a tree that grows to more than thirty feet. It’s going to be a small one at the start, and I’ll be planting it in a container to sit on one of the patios until it grows too large. The probably ill conceived plan is to someday plant this unusual and uncommon tree with handkerchief-like white blooms at one of my son’s homes, whenever it is that they get around to purchasing one, but after I’ve enjoyed the tree and until it becomes too large and a nuisance to keep around in a pot any longer.

If this sounds like a good plan I’d appreciate some help in explaining it to my wife. I’ve learned not to tell her about my spring planting plans until the plants are in the driveway, figuring that at that point it’s too late to do anything about it. This spring the driveway will be crowded with these trees, a collection of hardy orchids that I’m beginning, a few new hellebores, and whatever else. The plan has worked for thirty five years with no more than a few comments about my lack of intelligence, so why not for another?

A shallow, rock lined depression winds through this parched garden, channeling rainwater from the house’s downspouts to a small spring fed creek that originates only a few steps beyond the garden’s border. The stones prevent the thin soil from eroding in summer’s storms, and on each side of the often dry depression are plump hellebores that have managed nicely despite the inhospitable environment.

As hellebores will do, these have seeded themselves about, some inexplicably up the slight incline towards the house, and others inevitably swept downhill by the rushing rainwater. The seedlings look much like their parents, with similar foliage and blooms.

One particular hellebore seedling made its way up the gradual slope and across a stone path to settle in the shade of a large ‘Burgundy Lace’ Japanese maple. Here, the soil is bound less by roots, but the shade is deeper. In all respects this little hellebore is indistinguishable from its parent eight paces to the other side of the path. Except today.

With temperatures much warmer than usual for weeks through December, and several moderately warm January days, the buds of all the hellebores in the garden have swelled, but only this one has opened into fully formed blooms. There are other hellebores close by, both youngsters and fat old clumps in similar soil and winter sun filtered through the trees, but they will only flower with another ten days of warmth. This one young plant blooms alone, with several flowers and a few buds that are opened halfway.

There are gardeners who shriek and exclaim that certainly these flowers will be destroyed in the next freeze, but one cold night passes, then another with no injury. Hellebores usually begin to flower in the garden by the third week of February, and a few years ago when they were blanketed by snow six weeks they did not bloom until the first week of March.

The late February blooms are often subject to extreme low temperatures without a problem, and I expect that the mid January flowers will also escape without damage.

There’s no worklist (written or mental). No plans. I might do something in the garden this winter, I might not. It depends. Is there something else to do? Anything? My wife volunteers that she can prepare a list of indoor projects in a heartbeat, but she knows it would be a waste of her time.

There’s plenty of garden chores that could be accomplished, and as the winter wears on I’m likely to get the itch to get started. One morning in February I’ll roll out of bed to a glorious, sunny day, and I’ll decide that today is an excellent time to get started cutting down the grasses and spent perennials. Or maybe not. These must be chopped back before new growth starts, but that’s almost two months off, so there’s no rush.

And there are leaves, lots of leaves that were not cleaned up in the late autumn. The paths were cleared, the patios and most of the lawn, but the large bed areas along the forest’s edge that borders the garden have barely been touched. By late in the winter the leaves will be damp and matted, and it would have been much easier to have cleaned up and shredded them while they were dry. But, I didn’t.

It’s not that I didn’t try, but there are lots of trees in the garden, and a bunch more beside the garden. From lots of trees you get lots (and lots!) of leaves. I’ve never finished this task before the new year, and I don’t expect I ever will. And it really doesn’t matter, except that the labor is more difficult when the leaves are wet.

There has been negligible snow thus far, and I won’t be disappointed if it doesn’t amount to anything this winter. The past two years the damage from wet, heavy snow has been substantial, and I’ll be overjoyed to escape without having to repair broken and bent branches.

When I walk through the garden in January I see that winter weeds have invaded open spots between shrubs and by bed edges. They were here last year, and I didn’t remove them before they went to seed, so they’re back. And they’ll be back next year. Most of these are cute little ground covers with lush green leaves, and only from experience does the gardener know that it is best to pull them before they go to seed. If they’re not removed, they multiply. Today, there are no seeds, but they’ll be here sooner than later.

Occasionally, I’ll pull a few weeds as I stroll through the garden on a winter afternoon checking the status of the buds of witch hazels and hellebores. But only a few, and not enough to qualify as having accomplished anything. Eventually these winter weeds will be dug out (probably after they’ve seeded), though it’s likely I won’t get around to removing all of them. They usually fade in the first heat of spring, but the seeds have scattered about to germinate next autumn.

So, if I haven’t gotten around to pulling the weeds before they go to seed, the effort is largely wasted, and I probably would have been better off rolling over and going back to sleep.

Tomorrow is forecast to be in the fifties. The snow will disappear quickly, and if the sun pops out the buds of witch hazels (Hamamelis vernalis, above), hellebores, and daphnes will further progress into bloom. I hear frequent expressions that this weather is odd, but really it’s not. The unusual winter weather for the mid Atlantic region is when temperatures turn cold, and stay that way.

If a person requires evidence that early growth of daffodils and scattered blooming snowdrops will not be injured by the remainder of winter’s cold, last week should help relieve those doubts. Temperatures plunged from a few glorious days in the mid-sixties to the low teens two days later, and I’ve seen no signs that blooms (Mahonia x media ‘Winter Sun’, above) or new growth of bulbs have been damaged.

I’m hoping that there is no repeat of the heavy snows from the past two years that inflicted severe damage to the garden, but the winter is not half over so plenty of time remains for disaster to strike. I’ve taken no precautions to protect plants, and in most years I expect no preventative actions are required.

This evening the temperature is hovering just above freezing, and I can hear the melting snow draining into the gutters off the roof. In the morning some snow will remain, but by early afternoon it will be all but forgotten.

About the weather I hear nothing but complaints, from gardeners, and everyone else when the topic is mentioned. I am seldom bothered by weather, though at times this year the garden was flooded, and at others scorched by heat and drought. These miseries were temporary, and while a plant or two is likely to have perished in the worst of it, overall the garden fared quite well.

I’m certain that I’ve heard a hundred times that the weather this year was the worst ever , but I heard the same a year ago, and as I recall, every year for the past twenty five. Now, 1977 was a bad year as I recall, with temperatures that dropped to eighteen below zero in my northwest Virginia garden. Every year since has been balmy by comparison (though not quite a day at the beach).

Occasionally I look back at a photograph of one plant or another and wonder, what happened to it? It might have faded in the weeks shortly following its transplant, quietly disappeared in the heat of summer, or been crushed by snow. There are so many plants in the garden (and more every year) that it’s difficult to keep track. A year-to-year inventory would tell the story, but it’s likely that I’m happier not recalling the failures of the past year.

I am hoping that the garden will be spared from further snow damage in what remains of this winter. The past two winters injury to trees and shrubs has been substantial, and though the casual observer is likely not to notice, the evergreen magnolias are now as broad as they are tall, the result of wet, heavy snow that left broken branches strewn about. Hollies, arborvitaes, and cypresses that were bent and broken have been repaired and are growing as if nothing happened.

Two ‘Silver Cloud’ redbuds (above) were severely damaged, with numerous broken branches. Many small branches were pruned, one large branch was removed, and though the wound will never fully heal several small branches have sprouted just below the break. Otherwise, the tree is in fine health, and when it leafed out there was no evidence of damage (other than branches that hang lower than the year before so that I must duck to mow where branches lean over the lawn).

Deer were more in evidence over the past year with frequent sightings and tracks through every part of the garden, but I continue to spray a repellent with dependable success. I ignore all lists that recommend planting only resistant varieties. If I like a plant I’ll plant it, and never mind that deer might think it’s dinner and dessert. As long as I follow my routine and spray at the start of every month from May through October (and a double dose on evergreens at the start of December) I’m confident that the deer will sniff, but won’t munch.

The extreme heat of late July and August stressed more than a few plants, and I was forced to break out the hoses to water a few times. I can’t recall the last time I watered any plants except ones I’ve just planted, and I don’t figure to make a habit of it. A plant that is properly planted, in conditions that suit it, and with a minimum of care in the first few weeks will usually be sturdy enough to fend for itself through all but the worst. A stretch of ten days averaging a hundred degrees is about as bad as it gets in these parts, but most everything survived …. I think.

I believe that the constantly saturated soils from flooding rains in August and September caused more mischief than the heat, and I’m anxious to see if a few perennials will emerge from winter dormancy in the spring. Several shrubs and trees partially defoliated early from either heat or wetness, but I’m not concerned with these at all. With more extensive roots they’re able to stand up to extremes more ably than shallow rooted perennials.

Though the garden appears to be waking up early in January, a few cold days will put it back to sleep for another month, and I expect to be anxious waiting for the witch hazels (above) and hellebores to resume flowering by the middle of February. I’ve already begun to consider projects and plants for the garden to begin in the spring. There’s little open space, so there won’t be anything major, but there’s always room for a bit of this and that, and I expect that this will be another splendid year.

In recent days I’ve noticed that the spring flowering mahonias (Mahonia bealei, above) are beginning to bloom. Today a bee was buzzing about the flowers that were opened, the flowers and bee both rare sights in early January. I expect ‘Winter Sun’ mahonia (Mahonia x media ‘Winter Sun’) to be blooming late into December, and often into the first week of January, but Mahonia bealei is most likely to flower in early March, or late in February with an unusually warm late winter.

Periods of warm temperatures are not unusual in the winter months, and on occasion the warmth will encourage daffodils, forsythia, and other late winter bloomers to flower a month or more early. When the warm days are followed by more typical cold the flowers are damaged and fade quickly, but the plants live on, and other swollen but unopened buds are rarely damaged. Foliage of bulbs will often break ground and grow several inches before the onset on cold, but this early growth is seldom injured.

Temperatures through November and December were uncommonly warm, and in early January there are signs of plants that are breaking their winter dormancy. The foliage of daffodil, hyacinth, and allium bulbs (above) are several inches tall in my garden, and with a few more days of warmth the snowdrops will be in full bloom. More typical cold temperatures are forecast for the next few days, but then will be followed by milder temperatures, so I expect to welcome a few more blooms before winter inevitably returns.

Winter jasmine (Jasminum nudiflorum, above) will often flower sporadically in any period of four or five warm winter days, but I don’t recall seeing flowers in late December or an abundance of bright yellow blooms as on this early January day. I have planted winter jasmine beside one of the garden’s ponds so that the arching stems tumble over gray granite boulders and tangle themselves in the net that covers the large pond. The stems root with any contact to soil, and one plant will quickly fill an area ten feet square.

Vernal witch hazel (Hamamelis vernalis) and winter daphne (Daphne odora) will often flower late in January with mild temperatures, but both are beginning to show some color at the start of the month. The flowers of both will tolerate considerable cold without fading since they are adapted to winter flowering.

Most years, in late January I anxiously watch for the first glimpse of yellow peaking from the buds of the hybrid witch hazel ‘Arnold’s Promise’, but often there is not even a hint of color until mid February. Today, the buds have opened ever so slightly, but I expect that with colder temperatures on the way they will be slow to open.

The hellebores (above) refuse to wait any longer, and several have plump buds and a few flowers that are beginning to open. In my garden it is more common to see the first hellebore blooms in mid to late February, but I don’t think any harm will come from flowering earlier, and I’ll be certain to check them more regularly while visiting the other flowers in my winter garden.

In recent years I’ve become more fond of the gold spotted evergreen leaves of ‘Gold Dust’ aucuba (Aucuba japonica ‘Gold Dust’, above), and though it is listed by references as “usually not damaged” by deer, I’ve found it quite susceptible to injury in the winter months. But, not in October and November.

I routinely spray a deer repellent at the start of every month from May through October, and then a double dose is sprayed in December to protect vulnerable evergreens. If I’m feeling particularly energetic I’ll spray the aucubas before December, but most months I pass them by, or give a quick misting over the top. In any case, the foliage of two aucubas was eaten nearly to the stems with only a few leaves remaining that were undamaged. Several larger plants were untouched, so I must suppose that they were sprayed. I’m pretty certain that the aucubas will fully flush new leaves in the spring, but it won’t surprise me if they’re a bit thin next year.

My color vision is woefully lacking so that red and purple leafed plants are appreciated only from close up, but yellow and gold leafed plants such as aucuba and yucca stand out in the drab winter garden. ‘Color Guard’ and ‘Golden Sword’ yuccas (Yucca filamentosa, above) are sturdy evergreens with dependably deer resistant yellow striped foliage and tall spikes of creamy white flowers in early summer. The variegation of several other yuccas does not stand out so much, but all are low care and drought tolerant.

I have planted a number of yellow needled evergreens in the garden. Golden arborvitaes and a few cypresses fade with shorter periods of sunlight, but the golden fernspray cypress (Chamaecyparis obtusa ‘Fernspray Gold’, above) turns the color a few notches brighter for the winter. Golden fernspray is slow growing, and especially effective against the dark green background of taller hollies. In a hot, dry location I’ve seen the gold foliage burn a bit, but this is easily remedied by providing a more organic, moisture retentive soil or with some protection from the late afternoon summer sun.

Two other variegated leaf evergreens are marvelous additions to the winter garden, though perhaps not as showy as red and gold leafed plants. Elegantissima boxwood (Buxus sempervirens ‘Variegata’, above) has small rounded leaves with green centers and creamy white edges. It is useful for hedging or as an individual accent, and it will tolerate full sun to partial shade. One that I’ve planted is slowly weakening in ever deepening shade, and it is too large to easily transplant, so next year I must thin the branches of neighboring ‘Seriyu’ Japanese maples, or risk losing it. Another variegated boxwood growing in nearly full sun grows much more vigorously.

The variegated English hollies (Ilex aquifolium ‘Argenteo Marginata’, above) grow slowly in my garden, and without a pollinator they offer no berries through the winter. One is planted in full sun, and another in partial shade, but both would benefit from additional irrigation through the summer months. There is probably some benefit in keeping the hollies smaller for longer (in a spot where they were not allocated nearly enough space), but they would be ever so much more cheerful with bunches of red berries.