“What’s this? There’s white things in the air!” sings Jack Skellington in wonder when seeing snow for the first time in the 1993 film The Nightmare Before Christmas. While I can’t really recall, I like to think that my introduction to snow was met with the same sense of awe. That feeling never got old for me. It only intensified as I got older and became a harbinger of good things. Growing up in Northern Virginia, we lived in perpetual denial of the historical average snowfall of about 20 inches each year. That lack of planning for the snow meant that I learned to equate frozen precipitation with the high likelihood of school cancellations. That meant sleeping in, calling my best friend to come over, sledding, having snowball fights, and making snowmen. Exhausted and shivering, we would go inside to warm up and recharge by playing video games, gorging ourselves on chocolate chip cookies and cheap microwave pizza, and screaming in laughter at Beavis and Butthead episodes on MTV. For a kid in the 90s, life didn’t get any better than that!
Thirty years later and several degrees of latitude north, the prospect of snow still gets my heart racing! These days, I’m more likely to strap on my camera harness and snow shoes to head outside for a photographic treasure hunt. The things I’m hunting for are varied in subject. It almost doesn’t matter what it is because, in the snow, everything is transcendental. Come with me on a treasure hunt after a snowfall.
Have you ever noticed the silence after a snowfall? You’re not imagining it. It’s science! https://www.canr.msu.edu/news/snow_science_silent_snow The snow drapes the landscape like a sound-absorbing blanket. The world is quieter. I feel more at ease. My other senses sharpen. As I catch the sharp scent of wood smoke, comforting thoughts come to mind. I decide that after I’m done with my adventure, I’ll start a fire, sip hot tea, grab a gardening magazine, and wrap myself in a furry blanket with Chad in a favorite hygge ritual.
The pure white snow transforms the world into a minimalist painting of negative space, directing our focus to things we missed in the cacophony of summer foliage. With the foliage gone, the snow accentuates the horizontal branching structure of a limbed-up Viburnum plicatum.
You might say the snow shines a spotlight on pruning failures like this redbud. But then I’d caution you to watch your language. That’s the wild-hair redbud giant trudging through the snow, and he’s already grumpy. Can you see him?
I leave Echinacea up for the bird to nibble on (unfortunately, the voles also partake in the roots). It’s a treat for me, too, when they turn into ice cream cones for mini scoops of snow.
Grasses in the garden weren’t always in fashion, and it took me a while to appreciate their gifts. Now I wonder how I could have ever been so blind. They add texture and movement in a drought-tolerant package in our increasingly dry summers. In the winter, they provide a blonde backdrop to the brunette remnants of the forbs. Thank you so much, Dutch Wave, for showing us how to bring the beauty of the prairie to our gardens! I’ll never take grasses for granted again! It’s not all sparkles and rainbows, though, with grasses. The voles love taking cover in them. So, I clear out the floppier grasses in the winter in an attempt to make the garden less hospitable for them. Luckily, Panicum virgatum ‘Northwind’ is not a flopper, so I can leave those up until spring.
[Panicum virgatum ‘Northwind’ can take the snow.]
I’d say a fantastic plant looks just as good in all seasons. Datisca cannabina looks like a lost illustration from Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas. In the summer, the chartreuse inflorescences are more luxurious, draping toward the earth.
If you are looking for the profound, there are scriptures hidden everywhere if you know how to read nature’s language. Here’s an easy one to decipher. Hope springs eternal, right? Is that what you understood? This is Hamamelis ‘Arnold Promise’ flowering in a heavy March snow, a beacon of hope for those who will not be deterred and the whispered promise that this too shall pass.
Now, I could be just imagining it, but I swear the sky is never as deep blue as it is on a bluebird day in winter when there’s not a cloud in the sky after a snowfall. I tried to find out if there was any scientific explanation for this, but no luck. Can a meteorologist tell me why bluebird skies only seem to occur in winter? Imagined or not, it brings me so much joy.
There are light-hearted jokes that make me laugh. This Carex ‘Evergold’ is what my pasta would look like if I told the server to stop grating the parmesan when I really wanted to instead of when I felt embarrassed to continue further.
Totoro is the titular character from Miyazaki’s 1988 classic animated film My Neighbor Totoro. Totoro is a forest spirit with the ability to make plants grow. Chad carved him out of a stump with a chainsaw so he would look after our plants. He’s done such an excellent job over the years. He did not deserve the snowball to the eye!
[Totoro]
Birds are a highlight of my winter wanderings in the garden. The birds are more accessible to spot this time of year, without the foliage, and because they congregate in mixed flocks around the feeder, the seed heads are left around the garden for “winter interest.” When I see them in the midst of falling snow, they look otherworldly. Is that fairy dust encircling the chickadee as it magically takes to the air? I know how flight works, but the existence of fairy dust seems more befitting for such a graceful being.
More elusive beings are easier to track in the snow than at other times of the year. I love to take inventory of the beings who share our land after freshly fallen snow. Squirrels, crows, feeder birds, and fox tracks are common. Bears and bobcats are less common, but I know I’ll encounter them yearly. Going out scouting feels like scratching off lottery tickets. Will today be the day I find them? On the other hand, finding a deer track brings fear and anger. We have a deer fence, but somehow, those deer know how to find the gate that wasn’t closed properly. I can’t stop wondering! Do they walk the perimeter of the fence as they lean into it, searching for any weak spots? Or do they lean into random portions, hoping for a lucky break?
[A welcome find, bobcat tracks]
Sure, the snow can sometimes make travel difficult, but aren’t there so many more beautiful things about it? What are some of your favorite winter moments in the garden?
