Easy-to-make wreath

Vivian, my 90-year-old friend and former neighbour, sits in a wheelchair by her hospital bed. It takes her a while to answer the telephone--sometimes seven rings, sometimes 10. We still chat from time to time as we did in the past, but then it was over the garden fence.

Once an active gardener, whose graceful, methodi-cal style put my own rather slapdash methods to shame, Vivian would gaze disapprovingly from her kitchen window as I shifted yards of mushroom manure or perched precariously on a ladder to trim the hedge, heedless of my back and joints. She vowed I would do myself a serious injury.

Her gardening style is very different now, and she no longer raises her prized peonies. But like the beautiful plants that last into winter, Vivian is tremendously tenacious. Despite failing eyesight that blurs the colours and shapes of plants, she has her name proudly displayed on her assigned portion of concrete planter in the hospital grounds. Outliving all her relatives and remaining as long as she could in her own home, Vivian met her personal approach of winter courageously when the time came, checking out long-term care facilities herself.

My own inclination is to deny the approach of winter-in the garden or anywhere else. The garden aglow with masses of dahlias and chrysanthemums, I always hope this will be the year when autumn continues until Winter solstice. Spring is just around the corner then. For years I've scanned the literature for names of late bloomers and coaxed along perennials such as Crimson flag (Schizostylis), asters, sneezeweed (Helenium) and goldenrod (Solidago) that will hang on until the bitter end. I'm reluctant to accept a ghostly garden of grasses and seedheads and deciduous shrubs, however shapely in form.When the inevitable happens, however, and the dahlias have succumbed to the first frosts, I'm getting better at welcoming the new season. I'm heartened by the dazzling beauty of berries, evergreens and variegated foliage that relieve winter's bleakness.

True survivors, they remind me of Vivian. She would laugh and think me fanciful to make such a comparison, but when I see the lacy loveliness of soft-textured dusty miller (Senecio cineraria) hanging in there in the face of great odds, I think of her. This old faithful carries on bravely throughout winter, long after its companions, annual begonias and geraniums, have expired. Blending and contrasting beautifully with low-growing coton-easter shrubs, silvery grey lamium or purple heathers in winter gardens, it's also a wonderful accent for indoor arrangements.

As the light of day diminishes for Vivian, much of her gardening is done in her mind's eye. I bring her reports from my kitchen window about the blossoming of her winter jasmine, the forsythia and lilac in spring. Even though her home has been sold, the garden she tended for 65 years will always be hers.

Here in the hospital, she takes an active interest in the lives of her caretakers. She listens to the news and tells me that soon there will be a cure for glaucoma. There's nothing amiss with her memory. Just recently, it became clear that even now, certain gardening practices of mine have not escaped Vivian's attention. Mischievously, she inquired whether I had fallen off any ladders lately.

When I reflect on Vivian's powers of acceptance, somehow the diminishing hours of daylight in my garden don't seem so traumatic after all. As leaf-shrouded perennial beds get a well-deserved rest, berries, evergreens and variegated foliage come into their own. And we, no longer distracted by summer's splendour, get the opportunity to truly appreciate them.