The bones of the garden can be simply expressed as, What's Still There In Winter. The basic shape and design of the garden; the architecture; the permanent, or at least semi-permanent stuff. Paths, walls, fences, gates, arbors, hedges, what-have-you; whatever is still standing in February.

The concept is that if the garden is pleasing in its basic shape, if the architecture is compelling, if the paths pull you through the garden to explore it even when there is nothing in bloom, it will be that much more compelling when it is in bloom. And, it will still be enjoyable in winter... very important.

So originally for my south side, which I thought of as more formal, I spent time thinking about beds and borders, and paths, and the patterns I wanted to follow as I walked through the gardens; seasons of bloom (originally I grouped my flowers in beds by bloom season: four beds, one for early spring, late spring, summer, and fall. That did not last.) I settled on two parallel borders (photo, plan), one for lilies and one for irises and two more borders (Lilacs, and tough fall stuff) sort of on the diagonal... hard to describe. Suffice it to say I was happy with it until I saw it from my second story window the next year. Then I was appalled. It was off balance and off kilter, almost formal but not formal enough to look right. I hated it.

That August I tore it all out and started over. (Bad time to move plants, but maybe I would have lost the lupines whenever I'd moved them... "tap roots, do not disturb.") Using graph paper, I sketched an oval within an oval, bounded by a rectangle, and broken by pathways. It's now referred to as The Oval Garden. ( photo, plan) The inner, oval beds are planted in a formal, symmetrical, tidy manner. While the rectangular outer borders have a formal structure, they are filled with blowsy, untidy, rambling plants. But because of the structure of the beds, the overall effect is more balanced, more symmetrical, more restful. ...It looks much better, from the hillside, or even from the second story window.

The moral of the story is, think about the bones of the garden before you plant your lupines!!! And preferably before you plant anything else. Gardens grow with time, to be sure; but think about the place with no flowers at all, and try to imagine some architecture, pattern, or plan that is not dependant on foliage and blooms for success, and that will look good from all possible viewing angles!

And that leads into the next topic: formal design versus informal design.

Once you decide that your garden is going to have "bones", the next qestion is how they will be arranged. Formally or informally?

What's the difference? Simply put, formality implies use of symmetry, and informality implies little or no symmetry. Square gardens, round gardens, geometrical gardens, gardens with a matching left-and-right side, are formal. Meandering gardens generally are not. What makes a garden formal is mostly where and how the "bones" are placed. When the "bones" are symmetrical, even if the flower plantings aren't, the overall feeling of the garden is formal. It's harder to work the other way, taking informal bones and making the garden feel formal by planting.

Examples of formal gardens range from sprawling Versailles, to parallel Perennial borders, through cozy sunken gardens and romantic enclosed gardens, to the miniature herbal knot-garden.

Informal garden examples are plentiful; many cottage gardens are informal, as are most woodland gardens. Gardens that grow over time tend towards informality. Gardens that follow the lay of the land, when the land is asymmetrical, are informal. Kidney-shaped gardens, assuming they are asymmetrical, are informal (however I know one couple who managed to make their "Kidney" shaped garden perfectly symmetrical.)

Which style you prefer is entirely a matter of personal taste. However, which style you use depends somewhat on your landscape. Carving a set of square, or round, or parallel beds into a woodland setting can be difficult! Intervening boulders or trees or other established items may partly or completely determine your design for you. Alternatively, if you are planting along the base of a straight stone wall, or along the foundation of your house, that's a formal framework, and you will have to do extra work if you want to de-formalize it.

What to do if you want your garden to be the opposite of what Nature is giving you?

If you want informality along your foundation or your stone wall, consider adding shrubs at uneven intervals. Add random curves where there were only straight lines. A few randomly-placed, rambling vines may help. And when you choose plants, keep the final size and shape in mind, and intentionally create imbalances.

If you want formality in the woodlands, that's harder, but you may still be able to do it. Formality requires symmetry, and that usually means straight lines or regular curves, but if your rocks and trees won't allow a square, a rectangle, or a circle, don't despair. Look long and hard at the patterns that you do have, and try to determine if there is a way to get right-hand/ left-hand symmetry out of it. Maybe you can come up with a free-form shape that is balanced along a center line.

Failing that possibility, consider breaking up the space into smaller symmetrical gardens. This is a secret to the success of those lovely English gardens we all drool over: they are often a sequence of smaller formal gardens, separated by hedges or short paths or whatnot (perhaps in your case, woods, trees or boulders.) Each little "room" comes as a pleasant surprise to the visitor strolling along the path. If the whole thing has to inhabit a limited space, consider hiding the next "surprise" from the visitor with a climbing vine or a hedge.

You've already seen my two formal gardens (my Herb Garden and the Oval Garden.)

For a symmetrical planting layout on a smaller, self-contained scale, here is next year's plan for The Unkillables Bed. The Unkillables Bed was conceived as a survival-of-the-fittest battle-ground for invasive plants. It is currently a tangle of yarrow, oregano, gooseneck, and Obedient Plant roots, all in terrible soil. But numerous people have asked for late-blooming plants, and while I am digging around in there, I hope to amend the soil, install root barriers, and bring some order to the chaos. I will need to wait until all the plants are showing foliage in order to have half a chance of telling all the roots apart. Once it is all dug up, it will probably take several hours to sort the roots. (For the curious, "Just Susans" are all-yellow rudbeckias. And Mallows are sturdy but not un-killable; they ended up in this bed because I had no other room at the time. Now I like having them there.)

On the informal side there is the Angel Garden, the design of which was heavily influenced by a few fore-mentioned boulders and trees. The Angel Garden (named for a small angel statue, gift of a friend) actually started between three trees (now cut down, they were inhabited) and the largest boulder, but over time it has expanded at the rate of two beds a year. This expansion has simply absorbed existing landscape elements: trees, boulders, a young azalea, a path. This year a wild blueberry bush "joined" the Angel Garden because a new bed sprang up around it. Next year the wild blueberry bush will be well fed!

While I enjoy both the formal and the informal styles, I must admit that whenever I look down at the Angel Garden from the second-story window, I daydream about how I could make it symmetrical. (I guess it's the challenge.) However, I am resisting the impulse. It would be a huge project, and there is enough other work to keep me plenty busy. And I suspect I would sorely miss the meandering informality once it was gone.

DEFINE FOUR SEASONS

When I was just out of college, I met a man who told me that he had seen a flower-- at least one-- blooming in every month of the year. In the wild. In New England. "Oh Yeah?" I said, skeptical. "What about in January??" He replied definitively, "A Dandelion!" I now suspect that what he saw was actually Hawkweed-- but no matter. He saw Something in bloom in the dead of winter.

At first I wan't terribly impressed, but that was before my gardening days. Now that I've been gardening for seven years, that simple sentence carries a lot of impact. Rhode Island winters are mild compared to the rest of New England, but still, we have some serious Januarys here. Most gardeners I know mope when there is nothing in bloom (myself especially). Houseplants, somehow, don't satisfy. Outdoors, in the fresh air and sunshine, I want to see blooms. So I started my winter gardening with the simple goal of having Something in bloom for every month of the year.

DEFINE BLOOM

First, a word of caution. Winter blooms are humble by nature. We're not talking oriental lilies here. Flowers that bloom in the winter tend to have tiny blossoms, often made of sturdy material. You have to go and look for winter blooms. Most of the time you can't quite make them out from your window, so you have to suit up and trudge through the snow to check on the latest action. However, having done so, that improves your appreciation for the sturdy little plant that is actually choosing to BLOOM on a frigid and blustery day!

Another fact to keep in mind, is that some flowers survive being snowed on, and some do not. I have decided that a crocus brave enough to bloom in February has more than earned its keep for the year, even if the bloom only lasts for one day. Usually, if the flower is fresh and gets any warning at all, it will close up snugly before the snow and ice falls, and survive little worse for the freeze; but if it does not, I still regard any February crocus as heroic.

(In case you are wondering, my earliest crocus opening thus far is February 9th. (1998: February 3rd, a new record!) I live in zone 6, although I suspect that the microclimate where the crocus live is more like zone 7. More about that later.)

DEFINE WINTER

Winter for a flower gardener starts with the first hard frost. The last little hangers- on freeze and quit, and we are left looking at stalks and twigs and seed-heads, and the stark garden bones. Most of us consider that regardless of what the calendar says, winter lasts from this moment until the first open crocus, the first blooming thing that we see. Last bloom to first bloom is winter. (If you agree with that definition, then if you can have something blooming through the frozen months, you have effectively eliminated winter. Sound good?) If you choose to think of winter as December through March, as most New Englanders do, this article can make those months more satisfying nonetheless.

MY LAST BLOOM

I should note that the last thing to quit blooming for me in November, right up until the first hard freeze (the week before Thanksgiving) is usually white dianthus. Often sold in six-packs as an annual, dianthus is one of my favorite flowers. It's cheap, hardy, fragrant, butterflies love it, and it's stubbornly resistant to frost. Other annuals that grimly hang on in my gardens are alyssum and violas and pansies. Johnny Jump Ups, in various colors, are very frost-hardy.

If you have a flower bed against your south or west foundation, then for a little fun, try moving some violas and pansies right next to the wall. (More about Micro-climates later.) When a four-inch gap melts between the snow and the wall, sometimes the violas and pansies will bloom. And if they do, the blooms last, refridgerated beautifully, for weeks, sometimes more than a month. You could try other cold-hardy annuals and see what else can stand the hard freezes.

WINTER FLOWERS

The usual list of winter plants looks like this:
Snowdrops
Scilla siberica
Winter Aconyte
Snow Crocus
Winter blooming heather
Witch Hazel
Wintersweet (Chimonanthus Praecox)
Christmas Rose (Helleborus Niger)

MICROCLIMATE

Well, I had high hopes for the snowdrops especially. I did some reading and set about planting my snowdrops. They like woods, so I planted them in the woods.

However, if you want bulbs to bloom, the ground has to be bare, or almost bare. In January, in my yard, the woods are under six-to-twelve inches of snow. February is not much better.

I learned then that the best way to get an early spring, or even winter bloom, out of minor bulbs, is to find where the snow melts first, and plant the bulbs there. Microclimate is the buzz-word. Where might your snow melt first? Look on the south or west side of your house; by any blacktop you may have; by your chimney; over your wastewater system; by any stone walls that you may have, especially south-facing, sheltered ones. The easiest way to find the spot is to go outside during a thaw, explore your yard, and see where the ground becomes bare first.

The ideal site is one that gets the southern or southwestern winter sun and is fairly sheltered from the north winter wind. You may decide in future years that adding judiciously located shrubs or a hedge improves your windbreak. (Shrubs and hedges tend to slow the wind and dissipate it, whereas some fences can add turbulence and make the wind worse. Very geometry dependant.) More important than trying to improve on your microclimate, is finding one that works by itself. Watch what your yard does, and work with what you already have.

On my property, the south foundation is in full sun, reasonably sheltered from the north wind. It's on a hill that slopes toward the south. So the ground in front of the south foundation is bare of snow while every place else is still under six-to-twelve inches. I live in zone 6, but I suspect that my south foundation "microclimate" would qualify for zone 7. So that makes it an ideal place for planting something that I want blooming in February.

EARLY BULBS

So I have planted snowdrops, scilla siberica, and both snow crocuses and dutch crocuses there. Care to guess which ones are the big success? Not the snowdrops, although a few open early, and are long-lasting. The big success is the snow crocuses. Usually the second week of February at least one will open. In the week following, two to six; and then what I call the "pre-spring season" comes in to full swing. The snow crocuses burst into fragrant bloom in mid and late February, followed by the Dutch crocuses and the snowdrops and scilla, chionodoxa in March, and then daffodils, all several weeks ahead of the zone 6 "schedule."

In fact, if the south foundation garden was all I had, I would be out of bulbs while other gardeners were still waiting for theirs. That's why I keep two additional bulb gardens in colder locations. The second and third waves of bloom produce what I call a second and third spring.

WHAT DIDN'T WORK FOR ME

If you are curious about my failures, here are a few: I have purchased two hellebores. Fungus? Poor soil? For whatever reason, they are both dead. Maybe someday I will try again, but not this year.

Likewise for Winter Aconyte. I have purchased them three times at least. I soak them, and give them humusy soil, and Nothing Comes Up. This year the folks at the nursery told me that the key is planting them early so I am trying again. I planted them at the end of September. (January-- or perhaps February-- will tell; they are keeping company with snowdrops, under the witchHazel.)

(Well, I had to wait until March. But the winter aconytes are indeed coming up. Four yellow buds are arching through the soil-- hallelujah! )

ROYAL BLUE, DAINTY, AND LATE

Thankfully, blue Siberian Squill (scilla siberica) do come up. Not early, really, not in January, or even early February. Late February/Early March. But still worth buying and planting. March is still technically winter-- especially in New England.

HEATHER

To stretch the bloom season further, Heather was next. (Scottish blood may have driven this choice.) The local herb- shop- and- greenhouse stocks Erica Carnea, winter-blooming heather. The stuff blooms-- a no-kidding, gorgeous flush of tiny heather blossoms-- for four to six weeks, eight if you are lucky. Depending on the cultivar, the bloom can start as early as November, or as late as March. I now own four; each plant is a different cultivar, and one starts in December, and others in January and February. Pinks and deep rose colors are available along with white (blends in with the snow, but still, honest-to-goodness blooms. They still Count.)

WITCHHAZEL AND WINTERSWEET

The two discussion items left are WitchHazel and Wintersweet, both shrubs or small trees.

Wintersweet I intend to buy, Someday, when I figure out where I can put it. They say it needs to be against a foundation in a sheltered spot, but so far I haven't got spousal approval to put a tree by our south foundation. Perhaps a combination of hedge and stone wall can be arranged elsewhere...

WitchHazel is not so fussy. Spidery little red, orange, or yellow blooms that curl up at night and uncurl in the sun are produced on the last year's wood. Hardy, reliable, and fragrant, according to the books.

I splurged and got two: Hamemelis Mollis Intermedia "Jelena", which blooms coppery-orange; while not my favorite color, nor particularly visible from the window, I chose it because the bloom time can start as early as Christmas. And H. M. Arnold's Promise, a glorious yellow, which last year bloomed in mid-january, and glowed like a forsythia for a good month. To me the fragrance is on the elusive side, but it is there if you are persistent.

They live on the edge of the oak woods, with afternoon sun. They are still small, but healthy. I planted some snow-crocuses underneath the Witchhazels, but the bloom times did not coincide. So I am daydreaming about some heather... I will have to be careful to avoid color-clashes, since Jelina is orange and most heathers are pink. Forunately there are white winter heathers, and I am wondering if one of the reds would be okay. The Arnold's Promise yellow will be more forgiving.

In the meantime, I have underplanted Jelina with snowdrops-- giant and double-- and yes, another round of Winter Aconite.... I also tucked in a pair of daylilies (Hyperion) for summer interest, but left room for two heathers. I plan on choosing them in January, with an orange WitchHazel blossom in my hand.

(A March '98 note-- Bambi has devoured the blossoms off of my witchazels! Both of them. Four blossoms are left on each.)

THE (MODEST) PARADE OF BLOOMS

So there it is so far: when most of the other flowers are being frostbitten into oblivion, the Dianthus holds on for another week or so, almost until Thanksgiving; Johnny Jump-Ups against the south wall carry a few tiny refridgerated blooms carefully preserved; then a few weeks later the first heather starts to bloom, followed by the first Witchhazel, more heathers and the second Witchhazel. The blooms of the Witchhazel and the heathers last, preserved and refridgerated, through whatever snow and ice strikes. Then in the second week of February, the first snow crocus opens in the shelter of the south foundation, and the pre-spring season has begun.

"Color in the Winter Garden" by Graham Stuart Thomas
"Winter Garden Glory" by Adrian Bloom
"The Winter Garden" by Eluned Price