One of my favorite gifts this Christmas was a new planner. I just love calendars in January. Empty pages of potential lay before me. In the early days of the year, all things are possible.

I realized today that January gardening feels much the same. There was a break in the rain and mild temperatures, so I decided last Sunday was the day for my neglected garden. Late summer’s growth, once lush and inviting, was now drooping and half-dead. Hydrangea blooms were brown and unappealing. Leaves were budding on rose bushes as if they decided they were on their own. Pots were littered with the detritus of slimy leaves.

So I trimmed. I pruned. I pulled out handfuls of dead leaves and dug my fingers deep into the moist black soil. All things are possible. My camellia was full of buds, some opening just enough to promise blooms. Little pink kisses.

Some of you might remember the wise yam from more than a year ago. I planted its slips in the garden last year. They provided a summer of vigorous green vines that graced my wheelbarrow planter and a pot of flowers. I didn’t expect any actual harvest but was surprised when I discovered three tiny orange yams deep in the crumbling soil. They aren’t enough for even a snack. They were a gift nonetheless.

As happens with a new planner, time in the garden sparked my imagination. Maybe I could sprout some more yams. I should pot the cuttings of fragrant geraniums and coleus. They will adorn my kitchen window this winter and get the garden going in the spring.

Some of this may in fact happen. Just like the vision board in my planner, my garden will reflect some but not all of my initial dreams. Some things will die. Others will reemerge more robustly than ever. New things will be added, often on a whim.

All things are possible.
Isn’t it wonderful?