The Myth of Winter’s Rest
‘Twas a week before Christmas and all through the ground
The roots were all resting and no moles could be found.
The mulch was all laid in the garden with care
With hopes that no weeds would try to grow there.
The roses were nestled all snug in their bed
While visions of blossoms danced in my head.
The overalls, gloves, and my wide-brimmed had
Were hung by the fireplace where I leisurely sat.
When out of my mailbox there came such a flurry
Of plant catalogs that were saying, “Buy! Hurry!”
I read “Plant Delights” from cover to cover
‘Cuz Tony Avent knows his plants like a lover.
New hostas, agaves, hydrangeas abound –
Each catalog offers a new treasure that’s found.
I jump in my wandering car to explore
At Hewitt’s I ask John Bradley about trees
To replace those I lost from the drought and the freeze.
On the phone I am calling to locate a new vine
That I saw in “Fine Gardening”, “Horticulture”, or “Garden Design”.
I dash away over to another seminar:
“Southern Garden Symposium” in Georgia – it’s not very far.
I fill up my mind with garden books that I’ve read.
(Allan Armitage’s books are all piled by my bed.)
Redesigned my old garden to include a new plant;
Cleaned and sharpened my tools and replaced those I can’t.
I wiped off my brow and gave a low whistle
‘Cuz the winter all flew like the down off a thistle.
I shout as I’m running from spot to spot fast,
“Hurry planning your garden because winter won’t last!”
(with greatest respect to Clement Clarke Moore)