This post reminds me of a song by Lou and Peter Berryman on their 'Double Yodel' CD. The following lyrics aren't as good as hearing them sing it, but you'll get the idea...

Pushing Spring Tango

It isn't forty four degrees
There is no green yet in the trees
It may be March but even so
There's still a foot of snow
Tonight it's gonna freeze

What green there is is in her thumb
As her seed catalogs have come
She can take those five below nights
As long as she has growlights
Her life is not so glum

(Chorus:)
Don't try to tell her she has to wait for robins to sing
Don't ever say she's jumping the gun by pushing the spring
She'll wave a dirty trowel and say so what if I do
If you had spent your life in Wisconsin, you'd push it too

You could try wooing her with wine
Although you'll have to stand in line
Behind a tuber in a tub
An ornamental shrub
And cuttings off a vine

Don't bring her poems of romance
But know the names of all her plants
Don't buy a diamond to surprise her
But bring some fertilizer
And you may stand a chance

(Chorus)

Now you are nothing in her eyes
If you don't photosynthesize
If you have leaves instead of hair
Then you may get somewhere
I doubt it otherwise

Don't bother opening your shirt
Unless you're green she doesn't flirt
She will ignore your conversation
Her mind's on germination
Her heart is in the dirt...

(Chorus)

Here is a link that might be useful: Lou and Peter Berryman

C.L.: I love it!

As a regular newspaper columnist, I think gardeners enjoy reading about gardening, perhaps more than ever during the winter months. As for topics, ther's no shortage at all. I've written about historic gardens, lawn mowers, wheel barrows, and all manner of things that summer leaves no time for.

Yes, but do you write about the beauty of the snow-bound garden as Tony (acj) from ice-bound Quebec has done?

You know, as a garderner and garden reader in Minnesota, I'll say that one can only read so many articles about the beauty of the snow-bound garden. And by this part of winter that sort of romantic writing comes off as particularly, uh, silly.

Sorry to be so cynical, but the winter garden is a mess of rabbit-chewed stems, birdseed husks piled under the feeders, collapsed grasses and perenniels (so much for "winter interest") dog-printed and -stained snow, snow-melt chemicals whitening the streets and sidewalks, etc, etc.

Ronroot's got the right idea - give me a full range of garden writing and information cuz now I've got time to read the stuff. I'll file away the useful articles and muse on the rest. But please, enough with the winter wonderland crap. That got old before Christmas.

PS - it's not the winter that's bad, it's the thaw period that makes me want to flee to sunny climes.

That's when you resort to writing depressing garden poetry, or satire (or both).

Once upon a morning dreary, while I pondered weak and weary
Over many a cold and omnous forecast in the newspapor,
Suddenly, there came a dropping, as of rain so gently plopping,
Softly falling, dripping, sopping, falling over heath and moor.
ÂÂTis not snow, at least, I said, neglecting to look out the door -
ÂMerely rain, and nothing more.Â

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November
And the deer had just dismembered all my plants ([those] herbivores).
Eagerly I wished the summer; winter, it is such a bummer
Nary does one see a hummer* in the garden anymore.
Though Grevillea victoriae blooms brightly as before,
Rain, it keeps them all indoor.

Presently my heart grew stronger, for the sound of rain no longer
dripped and dropped and plipped and plopped as so incessantly before.
ÂWell! said I, ÂA welcome ending to the rain so unrelenting!
Now, before the chance eludes me, I had better go outdoors.Â
For so many tasks awaited, miscellaneous lame chores -
So I opened wide the door.

Deep into that daylight glaring, long I stood there cursing, swearing,
For now from the sky was falling snow, and not rain as before;
Making not a sound they drifted, subtle, soft, by wind uplifted
Flakes of whiteness now alighting Âfore the threshold of my door.
Silence, it deceived me sorely; winter with its icy hoar
Settled now its frigid score.

Back into the kitchen turning, closing door to keep from freezing,
From the cold air briefly wheezing, pitching out the newspapor,
For its forecast had deceived me, and the snow that fell now grieved me,
So I sat before the TV to find out what was in store.
ÂNow, said I, Âto get the latest Âbout this blizzard which now roars,
TWC** will know for sure.'

But I soon became disgusted, finding they could not be trusted,
For their forecast still suggested rain was all Âtwould be in store.
ÂSurely, said I, ÂAny Joe can look outside and see the snow
That falls upon my garden so, though TWC ignore.Â
So I cast aside the rèmote, snowy blast preparing for,
Stepped once more outside the door.

Now I knew the task before me, to protect these plants so warmly
Lest they freeze and die, as in the frigid wintertimes of yore.
So I labored, although vainly, for the snow had now quite plainly
Covered leaf and stem completely, blanketing the garden oÂer.
Even so, into the greenhouse, yet untouchèd by the hoar
I hauled many plants, though sore.

But the nighttime, eÂer foreboding, now upon me came in closing,
Ere I knew it all was dark, and on the snow fell as before.
And the wind now came up blowing, further worsening the snowing,
While the temperÂture was lowÂring, so I had to get indoor,
Lest the stinging crystals biting freeze my body to the core,
So at last I went indoor.

Now the garden, it lies frozen; IÂm regretting I had chosen
Many plants not suited to this climate far from milder shore.
And the memÂry of my losses gnaws upon me, while I tosses
Fragments of the plants that froze upon the burning heap that roars,
Yes, a bonfire to dispose of all the plants that grew before -
Now quite dead, forevermore.

*Anna's hummingbird
**The Weather Channel

Ian:
I didn't think you got that cold on Bainbridge Island. LOL!

Good Question John, and very timely too
...and Ian, you have waaaay too much time on your hands (good 'un tho'!)
I do beg to differ with the naysayers though. We gardeners and writers of the real north know that green lawns, boxwood hedges and pansies are not de rigueur for a truly gorgeous winter garden. We are pioneers and have pioneered a whole new style of gardening that EMBRACES winter - I'm not mad with cabin fever (well maybe I am but I'm sticking to my guns on this one).
That's not to say that I like winter better than other seasons (I don't) but it doesn't have to be bleak.
And I have practiced what I preach as a writer, having recently co-authored a book on that very topic. I don't know if saying the title counts as advertizing, but trust me it's the only one about 'winterscaping' for prairie gardens - but I bet it won't be the last. And, no it wasn't self-published. The publisher believed in it and it has really gotten a lot of media attention and did well over the Christmas period in Canada and is now available in the US as well.
I bet the media thought it was kind of a joke at first (like 'Best refrigerators for Eskimos') but when they realized we were serious, most people got very enthusiastic.

I sold four freelance articles to our major newspaper on the topic of winter gardening as well, so it wasn't a fluke. People are interested and it's really not all that much about waxing poetic about beautiful snow cover either.

Northernwriter:
Congratulations! Sounds great.

"Garden Writing In The Snow"
The last time I wrote anything in the snow it was my name and I never finished it.
Eddie Rho......

Eddie:
You've hit upon the essence of snow writing.

I've always found the winter months to be less hectic than those of summer. Therefore I tend to read more about gardening as I have some extra time. As for what to write about there is seed starting, projects, info on new plants, pruning, spring cleanup, etc...