You know how gardeners always worry about color? Is it OK to mix pink and orange in the same border? Do I like vermilion this season, or don't I? A huge amount of energy goes into such dilemmas with, I'm afraid, an equal amount of pleasure lost. If Picasso didn't get it, I think we can give up. He said:

"There are chemists who spend their whole lives trying to find out what's in a lump of sugar. I want to know one thing. What is color?"

How about if we just plunge in and use the colors we love best in whatever manner satisfies us? I'm thinking about mixes of apricot, butter yellow and blue for spring.

Now In Bloom Evergreen plants with bright variegation warm up the garden during the shortest, darkest days of the year. Aucuba japonica is a sturdy shrub that grows to 10 feet high and as wide, and takes well to pruning. Remarkably unfussy, it thrives in a pot or planted in a dark corner, tolerating dry soil, shade or sun. 'Crotonifolia' has glossy dark green leaves speckled with bright yellow; 'Mr. Goldstrike' stays smaller (to 4 feet high) with golden variegation.

Gardening can be confusing. In the maze of theories about soil, mulch, pest control, pruning — you name it — information conflicts. How to sort through it all to figure out what's important? Here's a pithy quote from Mike Read, king of the English Channel, which cuts to the crux:

"The rules are simple — start on dry land, finish on dry land."

A good mantra for helping us concentrate on the essentials.

Touring Bloedel Reserve on Bainbridge Island this fall, I was struck by a comment from Reserve director Dick Brown. He was explaining the development of different parts of the gardens, and said of a difficult hillside:

"We retreated to other tasks for awhile."

I can't tell you what comfort I found in realizing that even the staff at Bloedel Reserve, with all their expertise and resources, were sometimes forced just to back off and leave things alone. This is going to be my new technique for dealing with whatever I can't figure out: Just retreat for a bit. And in a garden plenty of other tasks are always around to retreat to!

As I look around my garden at the sheer biomass that needs cleaning up and wonder where I'm going to find space for all the new plants I want to try, I recall Betty Miller's words, which have spurred me on to years of overplanting. I used to think of each plant as a discrete entity, needing its own little smidge of earth. Miller, a leading light of Northwest horticulture, would frequently comment:

"It is all one big root ball under the ground anyway."

Feel free to recall those words anytime you want to squeeze in one more plant.

			Blandeur If it pleases God, let less happen. Even out Earth's rondure, flatten Eiger, blanden the Grand Canyon. Make valleys slightly higher, widen fissures to arable land. Remand your terrible glaciers and silence their calving, halving or doubling all geographical features toward the mean. Unlean against our hearts Withdraw your grandeur from these parts

Lynne Schwartz wasn't talking about gardening in her essay "Ruined by Reading," but her eloquence applies equally to plants:

"As in human groups, the individual members behave in relation to their companions: Each word presents aspects of itself suited to the ambiance, amplifying some connotations and muting others. A word will be key here, play a supporting role there, and in each successive appearance will be weightier and more richly nuanced."

Substitute "plants" for "words" and you have an elegant explanation of garden-making.

I've had the following poem by Kay Ryan up on my bulletin board for years, thinking it clever. But after making it through the year 2001, I now find it penetratingly sage, summing up my most fervent hopes for a tranquil 2002:

Valerie Easton is a horticultural librarian who writes about plants and gardens for Pacific Northwest magazine. She is co-author of "Artists in Their Gardens" (Sasquatch Books). Her e-mail address is vjeaston@aol.com. Julie Notarianni is a Seattle Times news artist.