The first snow of the year always feels magical

Why does the first snowfall of the year always seem magical? πŸ™‚

The First Snowfall

The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.

~ By James Russell Lowell

(An excerpt from his poem, ca 1855)

 

November garden musings… switching gears from the outdoors to inside.

There’s a chill in the air, fresh snow on the ground, and I’m craving a seat next to the fireplace, along with a big mug of hot chocolate. Yum!

Technically it’s still autumn, but winter doesn’t care. Happy to disregard the calendar, it has staked a claim on my garden already, and as you can see, the lavender plants are snug as bugs in rugs, tucked happily in the snow.

Left with no choice but to let it go gently into that good night, (with apologies to Dylan Thomas), I’ll switch gears now and focus on the indoor plants.

My tropicals, & succulents especially, must absolutely shudder at the thought the over-attention they’ll now receive all winter long, which is a drastic change from the absolute neglect I offer them spring through fall.

I’m pretty good about not over-watering, so this attention, (a smidge of OCD), mainly includes following the sunshine by moving most of the plants closer to any window that has southern exposure for the day, trimming leaves, repotting, and the like.

I cram many of them on our dining room table and kitchen counter so they can catch some rays on brighter days, which my family thankfully ignores because they’re used to it by now.

Except for our cat, who sometimes seems quite annoyed at the lack of space she has to stretch out. As cats will do, she pays it forward by chewing, and flicking some of the foliage with her long sharp claws that may invade her territory.

And, look out in February when seed starting season is upon us. Available space at those southern windows shrinks drastically when trays containing my future vegetable garden start sprouting in small, hand-made newspaper pots.

However, it’s still November. Time to end this post, practice some serious Hygge, make that hot chocolate, (with mini-marshmallows), grab a good book, get cozy by the fire, and settle in for the season.

Have a good week! Thanks for stopping by. πŸ™‚

Sweet Peas are ‘Scentsational’ Flowers

This lovely climber is an old time favourite.

Sweet Peas have been cultivated, at least since the 17th century, were immensely popular during the Victorian and Edwardian eras, and are native to the eastern Mediterranean region.

Every year I grow a few in my garden, if only for an occasional pick-me-up from a snootfull of their heavenly fragrance. πŸ™‚

If I could bottle the scent of Lathyrus odoratus to enjoy all winter, you can bet I would!

If like me, you like to get the jump on spring, I recommend preparing the ground this time of year for next year’s planting. Top dress the garden, and dig in some sheep manure, which helps to draw roots down deeper in the ground, resulting in less watering overall, happier seedlings, and healthier plants.

Sweet Pea flowers come in many shades. This includes purple, pink, blue, white, and bi-colours, too. Pollinators enjoy the flowers, and I am able to enjoy the Hummingbirds and bees when they visit and pollinate the sweet peas for me.

Sweet Peas are a great cut flower, and perfect for bridal bouquets.

I worked as a floral designer at a wonderful flower shop in Toronto, and a few days before I was married, one of our wholesale flower reps gave me a bunch of these lovelies as a wedding gift.Β  As my wedding bouquet was already created, I took them instead to my grandmother’s grave and left them there for her. A token of how much she would be missed… But I digress!

A couple of years ago, I broke down and bought a perennial sweet pea plant, Lathyrus latifolius.

A vigorous climber, it seemed very happy to attach itself to the obelisk my better half built for me. It’s very hardy in this zone 4 of Ontario, and a prolific bloomer, too. This year it grew taller and thicker than last, which as a gardener, was good to see!

I did note however, that annual sweet peas have a much stronger scent than the perennial version. Of course that might just be the variety I’m growing, but in any case, both are beautiful, and very welcome in my garden!

It is worth mentioning that ornamental sweet peas can be toxic if ingested, so don’t eat them!

They’re not edible like their Pea cousins, Pisum sativum, which by the way have similar flowers, but the bonus of edibles for dinner!

Or, if you’re like me, eaten directly from the plant while standing next to them in the garden. πŸ˜‰

Of interest, within the language of flowers, the Sweet Pea means “Everlasting, or delicate pleasures”, and, along with the daisy, they’re the birth month flower for April.

House and Garden – Mayflower, ca 1902