By Sue Healey 

It’s easy to love winter in January. When the year and the season are new, the cold is refreshing, the landscape new and exciting. Before the frigid bare days of February sink into our bones and the march of mundane March dulls our minds, winter is both beautiful and welcome. This year’s season has been surprisingly snowy. More like the winters the past, when snow cover was a given from December to March. Even the usual January thaw has not been enough to completely dissolve the snowbanks in the shadowy parts of the garden. The wind is again blowing snow to swell those remaining white dunes and cover the world. After that brief reminder of spring, I am glad of winter’s return. There are benefits to a cold, snowy winter – in sight and sound to us and to the health of our landscape. January is a wonderful month to explore the bounty of a Canadian winter and enjoy all that it has to offer.

Perhaps because I was not born to a frigid winter, I have always found it magical. My first keen memory of it was the glittering aftermath of an ice storm. The snowbanks crusted with ice, theirpebbled surface like stone where they’d been soft the day before, gleaming in the morning sun. My five-year-old self discovering that winter could change everything. It changed liquids to solids, rain to snow, the world from green to white. It stopped school. Surely a thing that could do all that was magical. And while I later learned the logical reasons behind a snowy winter, it no way diminished my wonder and awe of it. Many winters later I am still enchanted by a landscape transformed by snow; forests etched in white frosting, the diamond brilliance of water changed to ice, the satisfying crunch of it underfoot. I am still surprised by cold that catches my breath and freezes the hairs in my nose. And while there is less daylight in winter, I am far more aware (and likely to see) sunrise and sunset during these months, coming late and early before the clocks change again. With blazing mornings and pale, delicate evenings, they are a grand way to greet and end the day. 

But winter need not be as dramatic as a snow or ice storm to add beauty to the world. Frost on an old garage window has been a lovely greeting to many of my early morning commutes. Every instance of crystal formation is different, surprising, and ephemeral. Only rarely, when time and conditions for frost coincided, have I been able to catch those crystalized panes through my lens. Whether I capture the glory or not (mostly not) witnessing it is always a gift. There are different forms of frost, each one forming under different conditions and each worth the effort to view. Most of that effort involves early rising and decent outerwear. If you’re of a mind, catch a snowflake and look at it under magnification – a marvelous creation of mother nature. Wilson Alywn Bentley spent his life doing just that and photographed over 5,000 unique examples of snowflakes. His photographs are exhibited in museums throughout North America, serving as a powerful celebration of nature’s beauty.

There are other sights in winter that need nothing more than snow and wind. Together these two conditions can change a landscape by the hour. Drifts along the ridges of fields and roads form shifting artwork for travelers moving over them. Winter makes everything and nothing matter. All mistakes or tasks left undone are swamped in pearly froth and become just another drift to add to the undulating mounds of snow. The stems and branches that remain in the garden stand out more clearly against the white backdrop of snowbanks. The trees and bushesgather the snow around them and their skins, suddenly on display, shine bronze or black in the cold sunlight. Snow is an excellent insulator, protecting roots from freezing and consistent snow cover is ideal. I encourage drifting by leaving non diseased plant material to overwinter in the garden. Cut evergreens boughs spread around vulnerable plants such as roses and crocosmia provide extra insulation and places for snow to gather. A further benefit comes with the spring thaw when melting snow replenishes the water table while providing nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and trace minerals to the soil.

Perhaps best of all, winter is a time of rest, for the garden and gardener alike. I relish the time of inactivity, of nestling in and cozying up. The long winter evenings invite us to take a seat after supper, sit with a book or project, or maybe a cat and a nap. Winter gives us the moments to restore the reserves of strength (both physical and mental) that the year’s activities have sapped. In those moments of quiet rest, winter gives us a spectacle to behold.

When the time for nestling in is done, your local Horticultural Society is there to help fill the time. Regular meetings are back in full swing with an exciting roster for 2026 scheduled. Members are ready to put hands to earth beginning in February with the annual Seed Exchange, happening an hour before the general meeting. Our guest speaker is David Gascoigne with “Urban Birds” as his topic.

Come as a guest, stay as a member.

February 3, 2026, 7:30pm

Tillsonburg Senior’s Centre

Membership: $25/year $5/meeting 

Seed Exchange 6:30pm – 7:30pm

Sue Healey, Tillsonburg Horticultural Society

“The Lasting Impact of Garden Gifts”

At the end of the year, when the shadows and snowdrifts gather to cover the garden, I spend the long evenings sorting through the photographs I’ve taken over the year. Most are of the gardens that surround my home. This sifting of images fills the time that would be spent outside given better weather and light. As I flick through them, I see that many of the trees and plants that catch my eye and camera, the ones I admire most, have been gifts to me. They have come as tokens of celebration, markers of days gone by or as rescues from gardens lost or in transit. And sometimes, they have come simply as a way to share a bit beauty. Each plant is cherished and sparks a memory of the giver, a gentle nudge to remember. Their presence enriches both the soil and the spirit, creating a garden that is not only visually appealing but deeply meaningful. This blend of individual contributions ensures the garden remains a place of beauty, remembrance, and ongoing growth.

This year, my lens has been caught by a poppy that has roamed my garden for as long as I’ve tilled its soil. Collected as seed long ago in my parents’ meadow garden, it reminds me of them both, my mother’s flamboyant energy, my father’s quiet grace. Papaver rhoeas, commonly referred to as the field poppy due to its liking of disturbed ground, is an easy to grow annual with many variations. Mine is fully double, although highly variable from year to year in petal count and colour and always a showstopper. Swan necked stems over silvery green, jagged leaves appear in early spring, each topped with shapely buds that split in spectacular fashion: a multitude of frilled, silken petals, in shades from deep crimson to pale pink unfurl over the season. Blossoms last only day or two, but even that loss is dramatic; like a feather boa, shrugged off the shoulders of an 80s era soap-opera star. Blooming continues through most of summer and provides striking contrast to green, silver, or white backgrounds.Plump seed heads dry to papery husks that spill their miniscule contents at the slightest touch and set next year’s crop. They persist through the winter days, providing a perch for frost or snow, or tiny bird.

In the far corner of the garden, grows another gift that I treasure. This one, a Geum, is a low growing member of the rose family. It came to me decades ago and has been an all-season favourite from the beginning. Early blooming, and in my favourite colour, Geum is a perennial to bridge the gap between spring bulbs and the bounty of June. The rich orange blossoms open over a series of days, and as they age, fade to pale apricot. New and old blooms are present together, resulting in a two-tone effect that softens the brazen orange. Seed heads are hairy and round, darkening to black as they dry before shattering in the wind. The pleated leaves are semi-evergreen and provide an unusual texture to the front of the early winter border. Geum comes in various warm shades of red, orange, cream and yellow and prefers full sun with well drained but moist soil. 

Almost as early as the Geums and as varied in tone as the poppies, are the perennial geraniums that reside in the garden. Of the dozens of varieties available, I grow only a few and most of those from a last-minute rescue for my mother-in-law. They are as cool and steadfast as the woman herself. Each surviving plant is a luminescent shade of violet, some sky blue, others with a touch of pink. Unfazed by drought or pest, this unassuming perennial is a hardworking addition to most gardens. Blooming from early summer to frost, with leaves that often display rich autumn colour, they are also easy to care for. A place in full to partial sun, a spring sheering and topping of compost will ensure this perennial thrives. Mound forming, with lobed leaves that can also vary in size and cut perennial geraniums are excellent at the front of the border. Five petaled flowers range in colours from blue to white and pink with blue flowered varieties showing the most range. Each one is a worthy addition to the garden.

There are other gifts too, the yellow garden is filled with largessof friends and family. Primrose and false fuchsia, yarrow, and calendula line the border along the fence. Roses fill the garden with perfume and the memory of family scattered across the nation. The faded petals of a daylily under the lime green leaves of sumac bring memories of winter days bent over velvet and corduroy. Every gifted plant holds a special significance, weaving together memories of the giver and moments in time. 

As the seasons change, these treasures offer colour, texture, and life to the landscape, enriching both the visual appeal and emotional depth of the garden and making each day spent among them more meaningful and rewarding.

Garden gifts come in many forms, and The Tillsonburg Horticultural Society has several to offer. Member’s enjoyed the annual Christmas Potluck in early December and look forward to a year filled with the latest information, exciting trips and tours and the joy of society. Regular meetings will resume on January 7, 2026, with Mike Prong and his presentation “Perennial Power ~ 20 plants that keep you coming back.” January 6, 2026, 7:30pm, Tillsonburg Senior’s Centre

Membership: $25/year $5/meeting. 

The Society wishes you safe and healthy holiday season and a peaceful new year.

📷 Sue

By Sue Healey, Tillsonburg Horticultural Society 

As we enter the tail end of the year, saying goodbye to the gold and blue days of October, November can seem bare and bleak, drained of colour and life. But November has its own austere beauty and can be refreshingly sparse. Stripped of the froth of the growing season, the landscape is pared down to its essence, simple but powerful. What remains becomes more important. And what remain are trees. Even as we move into winter here in the northern hemisphere, trees continue to add their beauty to our surroundings. They provide highlights and backdrops, texture, and colour. All while providing refuge and food to native wildlife. While deciduous trees may lose their leaves and the evergreens clasp theirs ever closer, trees play a vital role in the winter landscape.

My own small, suburban garden is home to a variety of trees, some inherited and others introduced. A mix of evergreens and deciduous varieties including yews, boxwood and spruce, dogwood and maple provide year-round colour and interest to the garden while also creating a habitat for local birdlife. Each year, a twenty-year-old Witch Hazel (Hamamelis virginiana) heralds the arrival of November. This small, multi stemmed tree is native to North America and one of the few to bloom in autumn. From Halloween to the first snow, bright yellow blossoms, petals like crimped party streamers, perfume the air with their slightly astringent scent. Beaked seed capsules persist for a year or more and provide an important food source for smaller birds such as chickadees and sparrows. In the quiet garden, our dogwood (Cornus florida) has already left behind flower, fruit and flaming leaf. That would be enough for one small tree, but she has a final gift to see us through the winter. Silver haired, tightly wrapped buds – next years blooms, adorn branch tips all winter until they swell and finally break in the spring to begin the cycle again. The grey checkered bark makes a striking contrast against smooth white snowbanks. The Redbud (Cercis canadensis) too, her dark arching branches held up to the sky, her leaves strewn at her feet like age old valentines paints a dramatic portrait. While over the fence, Staghorn Sumac (Rhus typhina) stands proudly bare since early October. Its multi-branched limbs, covered in brown velvet and red cone-shaped fruit clusters are the highlight of the winter garden. Colony forming to many metres wide, Sumac can be grown in smaller gardens if suckers are removed consistently. Beautiful structure, striking fall foliage and winter interest make the effort well worthwhile. Another fine example of good tree structure anchors our front shrub bed. Here the Pagoda dogwood (Cornus alternifolia) spreads its considerable girth to stunning effect. With branches layered in flat, distinct levels, this small, multi stemmed tree makes a striking addition to the winter landscape. Spring flowers, blue-black summer fruit, and vivid red fall colour, along with great winter form makes this a four-season tree.

Of course, the deciduous trees wouldn’t pop without the supporting role of the evergreens. Yews, clothed in ancient green, are peppered with juicy red berries from early autumn to spring. The fruit feeds the local wildlife throughout the winter, and the densely packed branches provide ideal shelter for birds of all sizes. Spruce in ghostly blue or prickly green are a backdrop all year but become even more important in winter once leaves have fallen. Golden thread-leaf cedar (Thuja) – defying the cold November rain and the snow beyond, makes the yellow garden glow. Regardless of type, cedar, juniper, and pine all add colour, texture, and form in the bare months of the year. Smaller sizes or slower growing varieties make them easy additions to our small spaces.

And when I want more variety than what’s to be found in my yard, I don’t have to search far. My local trail, park, or conservation area teams with life and beauty. There I find elephant-skinned Beeches and Oaks with limbs that stretch to meters. Kinked Kentucky coffee trees line our rural roads, sweeping pines and ancient, twisted cedars fill our local forests. There is bark and branch to discover in these lean days of November – a closer look is all that is needed.

Trees provide homes for more than wildlife; they can host other plants as well. Orchids, being epiphytes, make their homes in trees in their native habitat. Learn more orchid facts at the Tillsonburg Horticulture Society’s November meeting. Join us for featured speaker Catherine McInerney of the London Orchid Society, “What’s so special about Orchids?”

Tuesday, November 4, 2025, 7:30pm

Tillsonburg Senior’s Centre

2026 Membership: $25/year $5/meeting. Come as a guest, stay as a member.

📷Sue 

By Sue Healey, Tillsonburg Horticultural Society

I’m always a bit anxious at the end of July. The last hot and heavy days of the month are saturated with colour; blue and yellow, deep coral, apricot and red. So much colour that I fear there will be nothing left for August. What could follow the riot of roses, bellflower and iris? I count the buds on the daylilies, estimating the last day of bloom, adjusting my schedule to ensure I witness it. I scan the garden for what is to come and fret there isn’t enough, or what is left to bloom will pale in comparison. But, come August, I am always relieved to see that the show continues even if it’s in a gentler tone. There is still plenty of colour to be seen in this final phase of the summer. 

Perennials and annuals with late season bloom offer us not only colour for the garden but food and shelter for the host of creatures that inhabit it. There are a range of easy to grow specimens to extend the season and often, display attributes well beyond bloom time.

In my own gardens, the rich blue of Balloon flower (Platycodongrandifloras) still lingers into mid August. Among them, the last of the Crocosmia wink out like sparks in the evening sky. Beyond that fading vignette is Russian sage (Perovskia atriplicifolia), it’s ghostly spires covered in a mist of smoky blue blossoms and finely cut, silvery leaves. This shrubby perennial thrives in the hot, dry summer we’ve had this year. Native bees and wasps and other little things come to drink at the tiny cups offered over July and August. I leave it all winter, those stiff, bleached branches snag the snow and the light and give me a reason to go out when it’s cold.

Across the way, in an echo of colour is sea lavender (Limoniumlatifolium). August is it’s peak bloom time and it does so with abandon. Large, multibranched stems hold tiny flowers, by the hundreds and open in slow succession over the weeks. Blue black sand wasps favour this late bloomer and make the perfect accent to the purple or white flowers. Deep rooted, Limonium is well suited to my dry, sandy soil and can even withstand the salty conditions of seaside gardens. In my landlocked yard, this perennial blooms until late summer, drying easily for winter arrangements. A self seeder and tenacious once established, it should be carefully deadheaded when grown in sandy soil.

Against all that blue is lovely Helenium (Helenium autumnale) in buttery yellows, bronze, or copper. Often maligned by it’s common name of sneezeweed; this member of the Aster family blooms at the same time as the allergy inducing Ragweed. A clump forming perennial that likes moist, fertile ground, the extra coddling that Helenium needs to survive my sandy soil is well worth the trouble. Sunny flowers bloom atop sturdy, waist-high stems in late summer. Petals, pleated and crimped, arearrayed in single or double rows around a velvet brown dome. A generous clump of these late-blooming perennials, in a sumptuous mixture of colours, becomes a magnet for butterflies and other pollinators seeking nectar as the season progresses. Helenium does best with frequent division and an annual topping of composted manure to ensure good health.

In the oldest of my beds August belongs to the Grape-leaf Anemone (A. tomentosa). There she reigns supreme, just at the edge of the witch hazel. Her pale pink, single blooms float among the lower branches, giving the tree a second flowering. I grow a variety of Anemones from this large and diverse genus, from spring blooms to this last, hardy specimen. A. tomentosa is impressive from start to finish. Bold and vigorous, with three-part leaves and sturdy stalks, this mid-to-back of the borderperennial is long lived once established. Buds, covered in deep pink corduroy, dangle on stately stems splitting and curling to reveal, silken petals and lime green centres. The flowers come in shades of white to deep pink and are a favourite of the local bumblebees. The August air is filled with their joyful buzzing as they scramble through the golden tipped anthers. The last of the Anemone show is late in the year and may be my favourite part. When the seed heads dry, those tightly packed centres begin to give way. They spool out in the most dramatic way, like art unfurling before our eyes. I have spent long hours bent in trying to capture that art, many more just mesmerized by it.

There are other blooms to be had in August; Phlox in all it’s lavenders and pinks and individual perfumes. My ground supports pure white “David” who needs no work and is mildew resistant. If you have a moist, sunny spot, any variety will add colour for a month. For yellows in dryer earth, look to Rudbeckia and all it’s kin. Hydrangea paniculata, in creamy whites, pinks and greens begin to show their colours in mid-August, creating a striking backdrop for garden beds. Salvias and sedums, geraniums and asters are all yet to come and remind us that there is much to enjoy in the landscape as the summer matures.

Your local horticulture society is back from summer holiday with regular meetings commencing in September. The featured speaker is Sherry Burgess of St. Thomas Horticultural Society, sharing her experiences with the St. Thomas Elevated Park.

Tuesday, September 2, 2025, Tillsonburg Seniors Centre, 7:30 pm $20/year $5/meeting

Come as guest, stay as a member.

📷 S Healey 

By Sue Healey, Tillsonburg Horticultural Society 

Once winter loosens its chill grip, I am seized with the need to be outside. There doesn’t seem to be a moment to waste now that the sun shines more readily and there are full days of warmth. But I’ve learned over my years in the garden, to tread lightly in these early days of spring. The ground is cold and frozen in the shadows. Digging and planting are weeks away. There are many good things still at rest in the garden. Beyond dormant plants and yet to bloom bulbs, is a world of beneficial insects nestled in the leaf cover, burrowed just underground, or sleeping in last year’s stalks. 

Pollinators, natural predators and their prey are important aspects of a healthy garden and many need time to come out of hibernation. Instead of tidying, I’ll use these early weeks of spring to refresh my knowledge of what lies waiting to emerge, the good bugs and the bad.

On the most common garden pests, aphids, has a natural predator that is just as well known. Lady Bugs (Coccinellidae), the dotted beetle of nursery rhyme fame is a voracious aphid hunter. They can be found, along with their alligator-shaped offspring in amongst the colonies of aphids, happily impaling and consuming them by the dozens. I watch every spring as my Euonymus’ new growth is curled by hordes of aphids, only to be wiped out within a few weeks by the Lady Bugs and their young. The sight is truly a marvel and one I encourage you to seek out.

While Lady Bugs need no introduction, but pale green Lacewings (Chrysopidae) might. An important predator of aphids, scale, mites and other pests, this delicate looking insect has a slender body with large, veined wings and dark, round eyes. Lacewings are skilled hunters in almost very stage of their lives; their nymphs (juvenile offspring) are so ferocious, they are dubbed “aphid lions”. Lacewings lay their eggs on the underside of tree and shrub leaves, so letting leaves lie is an important step to encouraging beneficial insect populations. Providing over-wintering, nesting and feeding sites will encourage populations for generations. If natural predators are in short supply, they can be purchased at some garden centres or online. 

Scale, another sap sucking insect that we often find on our shrubs and trees, protects itself with a waxy or cottony outer shell. While they feed on many types of plants and can sap the life out of them if left unchecked, scale is also a food source for many beneficial insects. Lacewings, syrphid flies, and parasitic wasps all feed on scale’s various life stages and can keep most populations in balance. When numbers do get out of control and native predators are overwhelmed, dormant oil sprayed over affected limbs can be an effective control measure. In some cases, only the removal of the affected plant will ensure that the scale does not spread to neighbouring plantings.

We all have caterpillars of one sort or another in the garden. There is a thin line between friend and foe when we think of the caterpillar. They are the larval stage of so many things, moths, butterflies, beetles. They are destroyers of crops, like the codling moths (Cydia pomonella) that leave worms in your apples. Theyare producers of the crop, like the silkworm (Bombyx mori) that spins the finest thread. They are magicians, weaving themselves into objects of pure fantasy and delight. So, I go with a light hand when hunting in the garden. I rely on manual control, and only when numbers threaten the health of it’s host. But mostly, I let the wasps do my pest control. Of all the beneficials I have discovered, wasps have been perhaps the most wickedly wonderful. 

There are hundreds of types; tiny to large, metallic to dull, thin waisted and long legged. Almost all are natural predators of caterpillars, scale, mites and leaf hoppers. Waspsboth feed directly on their prey and use them for their young. Live prey can be stuffed into chambers along with unhatched eggs or laid directly on their prey, a ready meal once eggs have hatched. More macabre still, some wasps lay their eggs inside the host so that it is consumed from inside. Viburnum Leaf Roller, Tomato Hornworm, and even June bugs are all parasitized by different types of wasps that are readily found in our gardens. Native wasps and bees are usually solitary, incidental pollinators and harmless to humans. While they feed on other insects, they also use nectar and pollen as food sources and can be attracted to the garden with flowering plants such as sea holly, sweet alyssum and statice. Nesting sites include dead tree trunks, hollowed plant reeds and underground burrows.

There are others that have come to visit and taste what lives around my home. There are bugs and weevils, leaf hoppers and miners but most don’t do much damage before they move on. There are spiders and assassin beetles to ward off the worst, birds and dragonflies to guard the skies. They are all welcome and wanted, all part of a healthy and vibrant ecosystem.

Refocus that spring cleaning energy on your local Horticultural Society. Volunteers are welcome at a variety of society events and programs. 

April’s featured speakers are Irene Kicak and Veronica Tunzi who will present “Hemp for the Homestead”.

Tuesday, April 1, 2025, Tillsonburg Seniors Centre, 7:30 pm. Membership $20/year or guest $5/meeting. 

Come as guest, stay as a member.

📷 S Healey

By Sue Healey, Tillsonburg Horticultural Society

I’ve written before about window gardens. About their importance in getting me through the winter months of Southwestern  Ontario. Last year I introduced you to my Orchid window and they are once again stretching their way to the light, buds still clasped tight. This year I wanted to introduce you to another of my window gardens. This one, strange and wonderful and filled with plants unlike most. Here on a narrow ledge in the milky Northeastern light, grow my collection of Tillandsia, sometimes known as air-plants. Reclining in their glass houses, seemingly sipping on nothing more than air, these alien beautiesbring interest and colour to indoor spaces with their varied forms and spectacular blooms. This epiphytic member of the Bromeliad family is easy to grow, long lived, and worthy of featured spot in any indoor plantscape.

The Tillandsia family is vast and varied with varieties that range from miniature puffs to bulbs as large as the hand. As always, the rabbit hole of collection beckons, so consider yourself warned. Native to the southern regions of the Americas, both arid and moist, these plants come in dozens of forms adapted to each. Most send out spectacular blooms, usually blue and often preceded by richly coloured leaf bracts or foliage in hues of pink and red. All done without the benefit of a traditional root system. Instead, they take nutrients from moisture in the airusing small appendages along their leaves called trichomes. Species from dryer areas (known as xeric types) are often covered in more than their rainforest cousins (mesic types) giving them a fuzzy appearance. In their native habitats, Tillandsia situate themselves in the crooks of trees where accumulating debris and moisture secure and feed them. Blooming is usually followed by the formation of offsets, called ‘pups’ and the gradual decline of the parent plant. Pups can be gently pried loose at half size or left attached until they toomature and bloom. The ability to grow without soil allows us to use the species at home in ways that traditional flora can’t be. Whether set in glass globes designed specifically for them, or strung on frames, wired to driftwood or tucked into the fork of an indoor tree, your imagination is the only limit to how these plants can be displayed. 

My window is blessedly long, providing enough light and ledgefor just a few of the small to medium varieties available. The largest is T. circinnata, known as the pot-belled air-plant. 45cm tall and heavy in the hand, the bulbous base and arching leaves are covered in long trichomes, giving it a furry look. This species can be slow to bloom and divide. T. ionantha is the exact opposite, fitting into the palm of your hand and blushing to the tips of it’s crown before sending out up to three violet bloomsand sprouting multiple pups. Commonly found glued to driftwood or blown glass balls, they are an easy introduction to the family. T. baileyi, with it’s squid-like silhouette and rich purple skin, makes an impressive statement piece alone or as the star of a dry terrarium. T. balbosa, small and bulbous with crooked, cylindrical leaves adds a comical touch amongst the heavier species. My T. balbosas haven’t bloomed yet but I’ve read there is hope. I would have them regardless. There are others, isolated in their crystal homes – T. juncea, like a fan of long grass, T. fuchsia, needle fine leaves forming an almost perfect silver sphere, and T. brachycaulos, unassuming when not in flower, but a showstopper once it begins. August brings leaves striped in bubble-gum pink that quickly suffuses the whole plant to shocking pink before sending out a single, trumpet of violet blue and gold tipped stamens. Superb. These are but few examples of this broad and unique genus, each one offering an exciting challenge and a new perspective on what flora is.

In the wild, Tillandsia rely on humidity and rainfall to provide them with nutrients. At home, that role falls to us. If kept indoors, there are two methods of watering recommended:misting and soaking. Misting is most often advised for xeric types but must be done consistently and thoroughly to maintainhealthy plants. Soaking is easiest and my preference but only if plants aren’t mounted. An hour-long soak in shallow, tepid wateris a bi-weekly ritual in summer and a monthly one in winter. Drying them on the slant will ensure there’s no water hidden in their plated leaves to cause rot. I enjoy the watering of my Tillandsia as much as the flowering. Handling the plants gives me an intimate view of how they live. Their growth, ailments, even their decline, all part of the fascination, placing somewherebetween pet and plant. Given this treatment and an occasional spa day in the summer rain, they have bloomed and become many in their gratitude, just the thing to distract us from a bitter and bleak February morning.

Your local horticultural society has some great distractions planned for every season. Join us the first Tuesday of every month. February’s featured speaker is Robert Butt who will present “How to manage urban soils”. Members are also invited to attend the Seed Exchange happening at 6:30pm prior to the regular meeting.

Tuesday, February 4, 2025, Tillsonburg Seniors Centre, 7:30 pm

$20/year $5/meeting

“Come as guest, stay as a member”

📷 Sue H

By Sue Healey, Tillsonburg Horticultural Society

In the hush of January, after all the jangle of the holidays is done, I like to sift through my garden memories of the year just past. I take this quiet and bare time of the year to reflect on the seasons gone by and remember their glory. Every year in the garden is different. There are successes and failures, newlyfound treasures or old loves rediscovered. 2024 had all of that and more. And throughout the year, there were plants that regardless of what the months brought, flourished beyond all expectation. Through attention, weather, or just circumstance there were a variety of trees, and shrubs, perennials, and annuals that made 2024 a fabulous garden year.

Early heat brought the first stars of the year. Flowering bulbs in general and daffodils in particular put on a display inSouthwestern Ontario that surpassed all in my memory. Daffodils, tulips, hyacinths, and a myriad of others seemed to sprout in every yard through out the area. Rural ditches were splashed with the yellow of naturalized daffodils and the blue scilla. The hot, dry summer of 2023 gave most spring flowering bulbs the baking conditions they need to produce masses of blooms the following year. My show began in the still frosty days of March, with Iris reticulata nosing their way through the blanket of leaves. Their crowded spears opening to sear my eyes with fluted petals of magenta, sky blue and yellow. The daffodils were just as thick and only a few moments behind the little iris. Early, fragrant jonquils, sturdy King Alfreds in true daffodil yellow, bouquets of nameless nodding trumpets skirted in lemon, all multiplied. Each besting the late season sleet until finally, chalky white, poet’s narcissus closed out my daffodil show and the month of May. Tulips, both hybrid and species sprouted in places I’d thought them lost and doubled in those I knew. Through it all hyacinths bloomed feeding those early bees and flooding the garden with blue.

Summer brought mountain ranges of hydrangeas – their huge heads packed with blossoms in every shade of creamy green, pearly white or speckled pink. Whether it was mopheads or oakleaf, paniculata or lace-cap, the early and frequent rainsnourished this deciduous shrub into outlandish size and flowering. My Annabelles (Hydrangea arborescens) tumbled over themselves in their rush for the largest blooms. Throughout the summer, the stems toppled in waves, the rains bowing the plate sized heads till they lay on the grass, making room for a second crop of creamy white pom poms to be brought down in their turn. Blooming in late summer, the panicle hydrangea (H.paniculata) requires less moisture than the most of it’s genus, but they too benefited from the extra moisture the summer provided. My specimens of “Strawberry Sundae” and “Limelight” were covered in dozens of cone shaped flowerheads, some as large as my forearm. Sturdy and denselypacked, they last throughout the fall and winter providing shelter for any number of small creatures. Only the last of the March winds will pry the dried panicles loose. The individual florets scattering across the yard like confetti – a sure sign of spring. The last of the hydrangeas to bloom and my favourite of all, is oakleaf hydrangea (H. quercifolia). A shrub I would grow if it had no blooms at all, the leaves are that impressive. A 4-6 feet, deciduous shrub with large leathery leaves, that are, as the common name implies, oak leaf shaped. During summer, leaves are deep green to almost eggplant – handsome enough paired with creamy white flowers. Autumn, however, is the season in which this shrub shines. With the coming of cooler temperatures, the leaves deepen in colour, blazing in shades of red, plum, and yellow. They remain well into winter, each one like a gloved hand curled to catch the snow. When the leaves do finally fall, the peeling, tawny bark is revealed adding texture and colour during the winter season. Pruning should be done in early spring to maintain size before growth begins. Shrubs do well in full to part sun with the best colouring in full sun. 

And alas, I have room for only three stars of 2024, the first two having so many relations worth praising.

If I could only add one more for 2024, I would then choose the plant that has captivated me for the last few months and seems to have withstood all that the unpredictable weather has thrown at it. Miscanthus “Morning Light” (Miscanthus sinensis) a grass to lose your heart to. I have Morning Light growing outside my home office window and have watched her all through this year as she swayed in the wind, catching the light in every thin blade. Ornamental grasses often have bad reputations (many with good reason), but Miscanthus has never been a problem here. A warm season grass, growth begins in mid spring and flowering from mid to late September. Neither invasive or hard to divide, this clump forming grass is fountain shaped when full grown and thrives in poor soil with full sun. Thin white edged ribbons cascade in a fountain through each season with only the briefest of gaps in April, when I cut down the dried stalks and before the new blades emerge. While other grasses will collapse or splay in the wind and weather, Morning Light is blithely untouched by rain or snow. Her limbs move with the wind, plumes tossed about like braids undone, their crimped locks still glossy at the end of October. In the heart of winter, the tiny hairs surrounding each seed head will fluff and feather catching the snow like a mane of fur. Best situated where the sun can shine through the stalks, better still, a place where you can see it well and often.

There were other stars of the year, but they will have to wait for another grey day when distraction needed. A whole new list of distractions also awaits you at your local horticultural society, with full schedule of interesting topics and excellent presentations. Join us on Tuesday, January 7th, 2025, for our featured speaker:  Sean James, “Incorporating Edibles Into a Traditional Landscape.”

Tillsonburg Senior Centre

7:30 pm 

$20/ year $5/meeting

Come as guest, stay as a member.

📷Sue

By Sue Healey – Tillsonburg Horticultural Society 

Although we’ve become used to green Decembers in Southwestern Ontario, roses blooming in the last days of a warm and wet November make winter seem far away. And yet, snow or not, the holiday season will come. With it the lights and jingles and gift guides; the lists of ideas for those of us out of them. As a gardener, I am and have been the target of those lists. I’ve been fortunate to have received decades of garden gifts. Useful, playful, thoughtful and unexpected, most were used, all were appreciated. But there are those that resonate, that continue to give long after they’ve been given. When I think of what my own gift guide would include, it is these few treasures I wouldhave again and give in turn. They would be those that have introduced me to a new facet of the natural world or broadenedmy understanding of it and my place in it. They would be those that have helped without harming.

One of my first and most prized gifts for the garden was a birdbath. For almost 30 years it has anchored my gardens. It’s basin, sides covered in lichen, has held flocks of bluebirds and reflections of the summer sky. It has grown spears of surprise ice when we’ve been hasty or slow in our ritual to open and close the seasons. Chipmunks and robins have sat at its edge, sharing evening drinks. Bees and butterflies, wasps and dragonflies meet there too, all equal in their thirst. The cleaning and refilling of it, my son’s first garden task, is a daily reminder that we are not alone in the garden. Grand or whimsical, on a pedestal or at ground level, water brings life to the garden as no other element can.

The simple gift of a seat can be profound. It is the gift of rest, of stillness, of pause. I am a restless gardener, as my father was,always on the move and never content to sit. But I’ve found the joy in stillness. Found it on a bench made just for me. Found it there, with my back warm against the west wall, sitting and reflecting upon my work and my world. A garden seat offers rest for the weary and encourages contemplation. It offers a view from a different perspective and can become a destination in it’s own right; a seat in the shade or a dry spot to watch the rain. Benches and chairs, stools and seats, each a gift beyond measure. 

And I would have books on my list. Great stacks of them; huge picture books with glorious photos of far away gardens, thick reference books brimming with facts, biographies, diaries and how-to guides. I would want them well researched and written, full of knowledge and inspiration. What cold Sunday morning isn’t brightened by a tower of gardening books to peruse? If space is tight, digital and audio versions offer another whole world of information to explore. Many are available at our local libraries.

Gardeners are a finicky lot, and I would advise against giving tools as gifts. Garden tools are like shoes, they need to fit the owner and are best chosen in person. There are however, a few basic hand tools that all gardeners should have in their repertoire. Good quality secateurs in a medium cutting capacity are a gardener’s most used tool and make wonderful gifts no matter the occasion. Likely not the first, a second or third pairwill gladly be accepted. Long handled loppers, anotherindispensable pruning tool makes light work of most small tree branches, and a ratcheting set will get you kissed. A folding hand saw takes care of what the loppers won’t and completes a good collection of pruning tools.

Small but mighty gifts are gloves to work in the garden. My favourite are made by Watson, have a Nitril coating from palm to fingertips that makes them resistant rose thorns and water. A breathable back and a snug fit for my shortish fingers plus being machine washable, makes this a gift I would gladly receive every year (I am a size medium).

For those gardeners who’ve already got their water and their rest, the gift of experience is a sure way to please. When all of us seem to have just too much stuff, garden tours, exhibitions, clubs, and societies all offer new and exiting ways to enjoy the garden without adding to the pile. Wrap your gift in the ribbon of companionship by going along on the excursion. 

Gardening can be a solitary endeavour, but some of my fondest memories are of those times when I could share my passion and in doing so see it from another’s point of view. Whether it’s a garden tour on vacation, a walk through the forest, or a trip to the garden centre, sharing can be the rarest, most valued gift we give or receive.

In this spirit of sharing and celebration, The Tillsonburg Horticultural Society will be holding their annual Christmas Potluck dinner instead of regular meetings on Tuesday, December 3, 2024. We wish you and yours a safe and healthy holiday season and peace in the new year.

Regular meetings will resume on January 7, 2025.

📷Sue