Thursday, October 1, 2026
The day after Thanksgiving, a dandelion bloomed in the front yard. On the first of December, a charming but invasive flower called geranium robertianum was flowering freely in an overgrown mess next door.
Downtown, tiny green blades of grass had just sprouted at the base of a bare tree that has disrupted the sidewalk. And at the north end of the Port of Olympia peninsula, the dried-up stems of hollyhocks had dropped their leaves, but still sported a few flowers, bravely facing the cold wind off the water.
All these plants looked like they’re rebelling against the coming of winter. But theirs is a doomed rebellion. When the temperature drops, so will they. Resistance doesn’t work.
Fortunately, adaptation does.
That November dandelion flower won’t survive the winter, but the plant that gave rise to it probably has roots deep enough to duck under a hard freeze and push up more flowers in the spring.
The little pink geraniums have already disseminated enough seeds to spread their progeny far and wide. There’s a reason they are on the invasive species list.
Those tender blades of new grass also have cold-resistant roots which, given the ongoing neglect of that disrupted sidewalk, might become a spring meadow in miniature.
The hollyhocks, like zillions of our garden plants, are perennials — plants that die back every fall and come back every spring.
A few plants even bloom in winter. A tiny native viola is one of them. In my yard, it usually starts to bloom in late January, but this year it’s blooming now. Honestly, I might be misidentifying it, but I haven’t found any reference to a local viola that behaves this way, and the Native Plant Society doesn’t solve the mystery.
Then there’s the champion of garden weeds, called shotweed. It doesn’t come up according to the season; it comes up when you’re not looking. It’s a prankster of a plant. Starting in very early spring, it blooms and makes seeds that explode from the plant when it’s touched. Those seeds sprout everywhere they land, often crowding out the seeds you plant.
In my garden today, there’s a perfect shotweed plant lying in wait. The only reason I leave it there is that it’s too pretty and perfect to pull. That’s a good plant survival trick for getting through the winter, but the minute it starts to bloom, it will land in the compost bin.
In the garden, winter is a busy season underground. Daffodils, tulips, snowdrops and crocuses are all busy preparing the flowers they will push up in just a couple of months.
But we lack the X-ray vision to see all that. A short, dark, gloomy December day feels lifeless, colorless, and depressing. It takes an act of will to remember that those feelings are inside us, not rising from the ground or falling from the sky.
We need our own ways to adapt. Obviously, our holidays are exercises in total distraction, often becoming full blown obsession.
But we need plant life too. Our connection with the plant world can be a calming counterpoint to the intensity of holidays.
This time of year, our gardens often don’t help. A friend lamented that just looking at her disheveled, wintery garden made her sad. If that’s true for you too, go look at something else.
We are fortunate to live in a county full of trails, parks, waterfalls, and viewpoints. Walking is one way to cope with the malaise; even under dismal skies, some sunlight is penetrating through the clouds and landing on our faces. Midday is typically the lightest.
It may be cold, and probably wet. But as people have been saying for years, “There is no bad weather, just bad clothing.” (That’s a hint about rain gear being the perfect holiday gift.)
But starting as soon as it gets dark — so early! — there are thousands of electric holiday lights to see in downtown Olympia, and it’s close to impossible to walk the downtown core and not absorb some cheer. Bravo, Olympia light installers.
Indoor plants are also calming, and, Underhill Plants has a beautiful store full of them at 117 Washington St. in downtown Olympia. Even people who think they are indifferent to plants will love this place.
Then there’s the big bold amaryllis: You buy a bulb in a box at Fred Meyer or similar store for less than $10. There’s a pot and a soil substitute in the box. Pot them up, water them, give them some light, and within a week a stem will shoot up. In another two weeks it will be a foot tall. And three or four weeks later, it will have a big (usually red) flower or two, sometimes even three.
By then it will be January, and the days will be getting longer. It will be time to read seed catalogues and start planning — or at least fantasizing — about what to grow in 2026.
Jill Severn writes from her home in Olympia, where she grows vegetables, flowers, and a small flock of chickens. She loves conversation among gardeners. Start one by emailing her at jill@theJOLTnews.com.
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Olynancy
Thanks for another clear-eyed column. I especially enjoyed the advice to "go look at something else" to combat sadness over the messy wintry garden. I need to follow it more often. Time to get my amaryllis!
Friday, December 5, 2025 Report this
GinnyBanana
Are you sure that's not a wild violet? Thanks for the column about winter. I'm not brave or I'm too lazy to go outsize in the cold rain to clean up my raggedly garden. I love looking at the salvia blossoms still cheerfully showing themselves through the dark days. I have bulbs waiting patiently for spring in just a few months' time. Winter is a time for gardens to rest and gather themselves for spring. The rain and dark keeps them snug until they're ready to come out of hibernation. That's when I see what's survived and how strong my perennials have been. These plants are wonderful to hunker down all winter and then burst forth in the spring sunshine to make us all happy.
Saturday, December 6, 2025 Report this
joycetogden
One year I kept a spreadsheet-- on the 15th of each month I went around the yard and recorded what was in bloom that day.
But I have a problem with journalists who use the term "shotweed" Yes, I hate it as much as everybody else, but according to my nature books it's named either "Pepper cress" or "Bitter cress" Cardamine oligosperma
No matter how obnoxious it deserves a proper name.
Saturday, December 6, 2025 Report this
KarenLJ
For a little relief from dark days, check out these timelapse sequences of flowers blooming:
https://www.bing.com/videos/riverview/relatedvideo?&q=time+lapse+flower+bulbs&&mid=162BA53DFC6C37ECD04B162BA53DFC6C37ECD04B&&FORM=GVRPTV
https://www.bing.com/videos/riverview/relatedvideo?q=underground+bulbs+in+winter+time+lapse&mid=DCE5C1C073BFBC270F41DCE5C1C073BFBC270F41&FORM=VIRE
Saturday, December 6, 2025 Report this
LGlore
Thanks, Jill, for another thoughtful column. Your column is a fan favorite. I appreciate your beautiful writing.
Saturday, December 6, 2025 Report this
shirleye2006
Jill, I always enjoy your column. It keeps me in a good perspective on life in general. But please do not compost your shotweed. Shotweed seeds live for over 100 years, and WSU has been studying them and can find NO herbicide to kill them. So by composting the plant, you will be spreading shotweed wherever you spread that compost.
Happy holidays.
Sunday, December 7, 2025 Report this