January 2015

It is hard to image why I am looking for signs of spring already.

It’s January.

But it is also in the 50s and the snow is melting in the mountains and rushing down to the valley in flood-inducing volume.

Still some mornings the freezing fog lacquers every surface with a glassy lustre that is so lovely and surreal. There is no reason to propel oneself impatiently toward the coming season.

When I look at the weather map of the USA, I am personally proud of how delightfully timid the weather is here. As if my choice to live in the Pacific Northwest was not just luck, but actually a stroke of genius.

Well, if I’m such a genius what am I doing looking for signs of spring in January? Am I truly that impatient? I say not! I am not ready for the super-heated busy season ahead. I don’t like the rattling demands of a professional gardener’s spring. The speed at which I must move at that time of year precludes me from ever really enjoying the beauty.

            Maybe that is why I am looking for signs of spring now, when I have the time to enjoy them. Certainly one of the benefits of this mild maritime climate is that the seasons are blurred. What we call winter here is not the bald, frozen, lifeless winter I grew up in. It is spring as far as I’m concerned.

            Here is some of what I found, looking for signs of spring in January.

I expect hellebores this time of year. Truly winter flowers here in the Northwest.

I enjoys the strong fragrances of winter blooming shrubs like winter sweet, winter honeysuckle and sweet box, blooming while the fall fruits still cling to it.

But one does not expect forsythia. ‘Golden Tide’ has been a very early bloomer for me, and starts opening it’s first flowers in mid-January. It still signifies spring to me.

I was absolutely and delightfully shocked to see this rhododendron in full bloom when I was at the Elizabeth C. Miller Botanical Garden the other day. I may be January but it sure looked like spring.

Even a few hyacinths are poking out of the ground.Some plants can’t be tricked by these warm temperatures. We won’t see hyacinth flowers until real spring is here, come April.

Out at the farm, where it is much colder than in the Puget Sound Basin, the hellebores are still holding back. And the forsythia buds are barely swelling. But the rhubarb is up.

And the first little sniping of chives are available.

But I am happy enough for the winter wheat in the field across the road. Green can beat all the flowers in the world this time of year.

As Michael and I walked through the rolling hills of Polecat Gulch Reserve outside of Boise, Idaho a few days after Christmas, I began my annual yearend look back. This undulating landscape was the perfect inspiration for contemplating the waves of activity that shaped my year. I don’t know if it was the landscape itself, curvaceous golden, slightly frosted with snow, or the gentle rhythm of the walking after days of eating and sitting, but I felt high. Both in the sense of euphoria, and like an eagle with broad perspective.

Today I am trapped at home from high water, as one of the largest floods we’v had in years swept through the valley with a horrific brio that I am surprised to admit I am strangely comfortable with. Soon enough I’ll be out in the slop assessing the damages, cleaning up the mess. But fro now I can sit at my desk, 2 stories above the waters and gaze past them at the snow covered peaks of the Cascades. And, also, caste my gaze back across the year.

In February Michael and I drove to the end of the Mauna Loa Road above Kipuka Ki on the Big Island of Hawaii. It was very clouded that day so the views of the south end of the island and Pacific were obscured. But as we hiked to nearly 8000 feet in elevation we were in awe of the incredibly beautiful lava formations, the strange plants and the absolute desert-like wildness of the place.

Coming back to the north and winter after a tropical vacation is always a downer. What’s even worse is when the spring is assailed by a winter that just won’t quit. Yet there is beauty, always beauty if we take a moment to look. And that is a high in and of itself.

I opted for a sea level hike on my birthday last April. The peaks were still covered with snow around here anyway. I just love the deep briny smell as the low tides pull back the water off the beach and expose all the stinking life, delicious! Larabee State Park north of Seattle offers more than just beaches and island views, it is one of the rare sites of exposed sandstone in western Washington. The waves and wind have turned these bluffs into sculptural wonders. This small bit of geology holds limitless fascination for me, and the day was warm and sunny with levity. A truly happy birthday.

In May I co-lead a wildflower tour with Randal Hitchens of the Washington Park Arboretum. We went to the Glacial Heritage Preserve one of the few Northwest Prairie left in tact. Walking with another wild flower enthusiast may be slow, but it has its rewards: a moment on the ground looking at a miniature forest of moss.

We had one of the best growing seasons I can remember last summer. The most days over 80 in recorded history. And the rain felt just at the right moment. A tropical lushness swallowed our land; we could hardly keep up with the weeds. Dig the size of the dandelion! The harvest was also beyond our dreams.

Each July the Georgetown neighborhood of Seattle hosts a free garden tour. Some parts of the neighborhood are only 22 feet above sea level. The soils are deep and rich like ours in the Snoqualmie Valley and the proximity to the Sound makes the climate quite mild. The gardens are always interesting and lush. But as an ironist—is that a high or low part of my nature—I can’t help but look for what I call “anti-gardening” in this industrial neighborhood soaring to the heights of popularity on a hip gentrification orgy.

I did a lot of traveling this year. Up and down in planes more than I usually like. But I did get to see some great places, old familiar faces and great art. In Essen, Germany I visited the UNESCO World Heritage Site of the Zollverein coal factory, where the motto is “preservation through alternative use”. Long defunct and now a hybrid of park, museums, restaurants and clubs, galleries and theaters, I was absolutely impressed by the transformation of this Bauhaus industrial wonder into a cultural magnet. From the roof one could see up the Ruhr River valley, the old slag heaps in the distance now forested hills. Things can change, and will.

I spent one night in a Frankfurt Airport hotel. I couldn’t help but stare out the curtained windows of the café in the morning. The inaccessible green world just meters away had me longing for home…

A dear old friend whose ship has come in invited me to consult on a new property he bought along the Hudson River just an hour north of Manhattan. The heights of the property afforded long views down the river. This stunning spot nestled in tulip trees and maple forest was gorgeous. He informed me that the 3-year-plan we developed while I was there was completed in 3 months. I can’t wait to go back and see.

I had a brief day in NYC, so I set out running and didn’t stop until dinner. I had to do a pilgrimage to The Cloisters and of course the Highline, both impressive in different ways. But what I couldn’t miss was my favorite hole in the ground: Noguchi’s Sunken Garden at the Chase Plaza in lower Manhattan. Not far away was the 9/11 memorial so grand and deep as to be nearly incomprehensible in beauty and magnitude. The landscape architect Richard Haag says, “If you want people to look, dig a hole”. Sometimes it pays to look down.

In September I was back in Italy and the Island of Elba. My 2-week stay there was graced with superb weather, wonderful people and delicious food. But the high point both literally and metaphorically was a long climb to the peak of Monte Capanne, ‘the ceiling of the Tuscan Archipelago”.

Every year I swear I am going to avoid a winter slump. Avoid caving into the gray rainy weather and the work slow down. But then I realized maybe there is a benefit to this fallow time of year. The soils rest, the plants dream, why shouldn’t I? My “long winter’s nap” is quickly coming to an end writing deadlines loom, plants are starting to bloom, bulbs to poke their heads from the ground. It is too soon to call it spring, but once these flood waters retreat and the silt covered garden is revealed as an ugly mess I am going to have to fly on my imagination toward the coming season. Maybe I am not unlike Seattle essayist Charles D’Ambrosio who says “ I guess my true Here will always be Elsewhere”.

Signs of Spring will come.