Illustration by Trisha Krauss
Illustration of a winter scene with people doing a variety of activities
It was one of those snows, the kind where it lands like goopy white frosting on every roof and bough, a true winter wonderland. Waiting for our offer to be accepted, my husband and I dared to tour the neighborhood where we hoped to live. We followed the parkway, a sinuous S curve studded with vintage streetlamps, the shadows of overhead branches flickering on the windshield as we made our way up the Interlachen Bridge. A place between lakes, yet it felt more like a portal to another world.
We drove slowly (but not too slowly, wouldn’t want would-be neighbors to notice) down the freshly plowed boulevard, gawking at the beautiful homes, when a band of rosy-cheeked children in colorful hats and scarves went running by, sleds trailing behind them. We looked at each other with the same thought. I asked, “What was that movie?” We had both conjured that memorable clip from the 1980s Chevy Chase comedy, Funny Farm, when the rustic townsfolk conspire to put on a Currier and Ives–worthy festival to bamboozle a pair of newcomers into buying a rundown farm.
We ventured on, finding even more displays of small-town (plopped in the big city) winter wholesomeness and then realized it was just Reindeer Day in Linden Hills and it was a real thing.
Since then I’ve been capturing #lindenhillslife in every season, but I have to say when I scroll through my posts, the winter scenes stand out. The pavilions at the band shell bathed in pale blue light while icy fog rolls in from Lake Harriet. The sledding hill at Beard’s Plaisance so steep it tilts like a blank canvas and the kids in neon-colored parkas are confetti scattered on it. Twinkly lights on the trees and the soft glow of shop windows in our little “downtown.”
As a garden writer, I’m often asked about the fourth gardening season. How to bring home a bit of that magic while we huddle indoors, even during a pandemic? Ingredients like strong shapes and lines, an unexpected dash of color, and golden light provide our yards with what’s called winter interest. You see it in magazines, settings (most likely in England) with frosty lawns and snow-dusted hedges, extolling the value of good architectural bones in a garden.
Gardeners like me who reside up north just roll their eyes. Give it a couple snows, the ones that stay until May, and your grasses flop, birds eat your berries, and you wonder where your bones are buried. Winter interest in Minnesota has to be made of sterner stuff and better be waist-high once the snow starts to pile on. Look for sculptured evergreens, shapely tree silhouettes, beautiful bark, brightly colored stems. Structures like a garden shed, a pergola, or an arbor take on more charm daubed in snow. Objects that suggest human connection, like a bench or birdbath, make freezing temps appear less hostile. Consider painting your front door red. Heck, paint the whole house red.
In cold weather, people experience their garden differently, usually when arriving home in a quick driveway moment or through the windows, peering outward. While everyone is staying home in what is hopefully the home stretch of this crisis, these wintry vignettes offer a glimpse of much-needed beauty as people go about their lives inside their bubbles.
At this point, I should probably confess I’m now an official snowbird. I had it with picking my way through parking lot glaciers. What started as a few weeks one winter turned into months and more months as time went on. Still, you’d be surprised how often I gaze at friends’ winter pics on Facebook and get a sudden urge to make an ice lantern or wish I was back in Minnesota, curled up in the window seat with a cup of tea, watching the snowflakes fall.
