As soon as we pass the first of February I am into a new garden year. The light has noticeably changed and the sun is getting stronger every day.

As promised last week, I did some reading about Heavenly Bamboo. For starters, there is no relationship with what we know as bamboo. It is from an entirely different family, Nandina domestica. It is very common in the Pacific northwest. The semi-evergreen mid-sized shrub is pink in the spring, light green in the summer with large clusters of white blossoms and a lovely bronze purple with red berries in the fall and early winter.

So much has happened since the last column, I hardly know where to begin. Last Friday morning was lovely, awakening to a snow-covered world. I love how even an inch of the stuff covers a multitude of “sins.” I speak only metaphorically of all my sorely neglected garden chores.

I lack even the most rudimentary carpentry skills. Apparently, I also have an unwillingness to learn or to take any type of advice or “constructive criticism.” I will not attempt to describe my latest project concerning raised cold-frames. My friend Marie said if a real carpenter stopped by the garden she wanted to be absolved of any responsibility for the project. At any rate, I’ve now been searching the woods around my house, saw in hand.

Here it is a week into the New Year and I’ve managed to break all my resolutions. Next year I shall resolve to make none! The light has noticeably changed in the evening. The mornings, however, are still annoyingly dark until almost seven. Every night it is just a bit later when I close up the hen house. It’s good I do have an ironclad rule to shut them in at dusk as I had an enormous raccoon on the deck last week eating the end of the cat’s supper. It seems weird that they have yet to hibernate. Have I mentioned how much I loathe them?

Recognition trumps memory. I was organizing my greenhouse this week and came across several clumps of seemingly dead plants. I had no recollection of saving them for any reason. Luckily, I have an ability to search for some forensic evidence. After digging around for the roots and smelling some of the crispy foliage, I was able to identify both purple rooster Monarda and some sort of miniature hosta. This is when memory finally kicked in. I save everything in the ridiculous and yet optimistic hope that revival is possible.