Finding Beauty in a Dead Garden

While gardeners in every state but my own have beautiful photos of rime covered trees and fluffy snow drifts, mine is decidedly less dramatic.  Nobody rants and raves about winter's beautiful scenery in the Coastal South, but I would beg to differ.  Lets take a break from covering our plants for a moment and look at the beauty that we so often take for granted.
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Okay, so this isn't the most beautiful winter photo you'll ever see.  The dead grass has been dug up by by armadillos (I think) leaving muddy patches, and the lushly tropical landscape that I shared with you only a couple months ago is barely evident in those limp and dried out leaves.  If it looks ugly, its because you're not looking at it the right way... look closer!

Winter comes with its own set of rules, and the dead grass and empty canopies only serve to better highlight those hidden forms!  Take this wax myrtle for example.  Its berries have a waxy bluish finish, and the shapes are so ornamental that I would even recommend using them in a cut arrangement!  Of course you could also make bayberry candles with the wax on the berries, but you'd need a lot of fruit laden branches to make even a little candle.  Its better just to appreciate the ornamental form.  Oh, and did I mention that the wax myrtle is evergreen?  This earns it big brownie points in my garden. 

Grasses are also great for winter interest in places with, or without snow.  Even as cold winds and frost suck the moisture out of their cells, they retain their structure and often provide a little color too!  My lemongrass (not pictured) is gray and dead, but still retains its fountain like form.

This clump of ginger has seen better days to be sure, but I'm still fascinated by its resilience, and thrilled to know that it will rebound in spring with no recollection of this painful trial.  When allowed to recover plants do not hold grudges, keeping no memory of how you've allowed them to suffer. 

Here are some alocasia leaves, still pushing out of the ground in this coldest of winters.  I hope to some day be so persistent myself!
 
I was looking at my miserable ti plant today, its leaves nothing more than skeletons of ridges and veins left in between the damaged tissue.  The leaves twisted around in agony as some portions dried out faster than others, and I couldn't help but be intrigued by the forces at work.  If that thought depresses, you, how about this: In just a few months that plant and the garden will recover, just like nothing ever happened!  How is that not a miracle?
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