January

At the end of January, the nights are long and the days are cold. Gardeners check the weather almanac every day to see when the worst of winter is over. And happily, the coldest days are behind us. In February, the temperature rises about 2 degrees a week. By the March equinox, it will feel like spring.

But first we must to get through today's winter storm.

The wildlife habitat is covered by a soft white blanket.

Sculptures have formed in Papas Garden.

Snow insulates the plants in pots from the cold.

Bird houses wear white stocking caps.

Heavy snow and blowing winds collapsed the Jackson vine, Smilax smallii. But there are few other problems.

Bird prints on the edge of the carport are large and deep. Perhaps a hawk, looking for something tasty hiding among the garden tools.

Snow and sleet are hard on animals in a backyard wildlife habitat.

Colts

Sunday afternoon in January. The house is quiet and the lights are low. A fire dances in the hearth. The couch is heavy with pillows and the Colts are on TV.

Someone lies on the couch, dozing during the commercials. I walk through the room. "Rainin' out," is the conversation.

Outside, the temperature is in the low 60's, a welcome relief from the long cold period this winter. As the sun sets, the air is thick and moist, as in early spring. The trees are bare and wildflowers sleep below a blanket of brown leaves. There is not much to compete with Peyton Manning on a widescreen TV.

The first blooms of the hellebores opened this week. These are the Brandywine strain and seemed to weather the arctic blasts better than other types.

The white hellebores are two weeks behind the pink and purple, and seem more delicate.

There is still plenty of fruit on the Jackson vine (Smilax smallii). Birds love to roost in this tangled vine and in my garden, chipmunks and squirrels make it their homes as well.

The roots of the ornamental kale had frozen solid in their pots, but they survived to provide a spot of color near the driveway.

In anticipation of spring, we are tempted to wish the winter away. But out of the browns and grays of winter, comes beauty.

Accumulation

One night snow dusted our town and accumulated on an ornamental cabbage planted near the kitchen door.

That evening, I moved my seashell collection to an old fishbowl. These were found years ago on beaches from Charleston to Chincoteague, yet I no longer remember collecting them.

For Christmas, I decorated our tree with faux maple leaves found in a box in the carport. I didn't hang the ornaments stored in boxes in the attic, even though there are hundreds.

Over time, things accumulate without anyone intending it to be so.

Leaves are excellent accumulators.

On on a frigid winter day, oak leaves warm the ivy. It is not much cover, but this winter is so cold, any assistance is deeply appreciated.

Leaves blow along the stones on the path, accumulating in small piles.

Beside the front porch, the accumulation of leaves formed a thick black layer of soil over the compacted clay. And on the driveway, the decaying leaves formed their own flower bed on the pavement for a group of self-seeding impatiens. This photo is from summer.

I no longer collect seashells or christmas ornaments. In recent years, accumulations have been unintentional. Beyond the pots, plants and ponds, a garden made from 10 years of hands in the soil. And a marriage made from 33 years as a couple.