Welcome, winter
By Mary Shane

I love this time of year. I joyfully embrace the chilly air and the hubbub of the holidays. The first snow is always thrilling; the scent of winter and the bright sun is exhilarating. I admire the trees for their quiet strength and acceptance of the cold. The garden is finally asleep for the season, patiently waiting for the spring.

Happily for me, the creative process never sleeps and I always find new ways to celebrate the season indoors and out.

I love to push away the early winter darkness with little white lights on potted trees and luminaries along garden paths. The reflective glow of candles is caught by tiny ornaments in terra cotta saucers, and a winter white orchid is luminous on a small circular bed of Japanese river stone.

My 19th-century sleeping lamb statue comes indoors and rests on a bed of white pine boughs on an entry table. Twig and pinecone garlands grace the mantle, with a little left over for the first snowman's crown. A favorite birdbath also comes in for the winter and is filled with scented pinecones and cinnamon sticks.

Dried lavender bunches stand upright, simply tied with silver ribbon. A small tree rests in an Italian urn and my Dutch wooden shoe is filled with sprigs of berried juniper and spruce. The house is filled with reminders of the garden and ties me to the outside even when I'm in.

But it's not just my house and garden I get to play in during the holidays. Every year, my first and oldest client asks me to decorate her mantle with materials from her landscape.

I love the whirls of remaining clematis heads still clinging to the obelisk in her main garden; they remind me of a fairy's winter dress. I wish I could use them but they're too fragile to make the trip indoors. The blue ice juniper is too prickly but the cedar is just fine. Its tiny pinecones drape perfectly and the color is beyond fantastic against winterberry branches.

I judiciously cut boughs of white pine and balsam and gather pinecones from the ground. Once the greens are arranged, I tuck in the small birds her husband carved many years ago and add little white lights. I find homes in between the boughs for the well-worn Santa Clauses from Christmases past. Before I leave, I take one last walk around her garden and wish it a happy winter's rest.

The festivities of this time of year are exciting and intense. Winter's underlying quiet and calm nurture horticultural dreaming; ideas come when least expected. The garden may be asleep but our creative minds never rest, especially with the promise of spring a mere 12 weeks away.