In this cold season, I find myself reflecting on garden winterscapes. There’s a quiet beauty and a different kind of inspiration that comes from seeing plants outside of their peak season. Dormancy reveals structure, resilience, and the way time shapes a landscape.
A few winters ago, I was invited to provide the keynote for Plant-O-Rama at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden in late January. While in New York, I took the opportunity to visit a few horticultural highlights including the High Line. My good friend Charles Yurgalevitch coordinated the schedule and had arranged for us to meet with Richard Hayden, the Senior Director of Horticulture, along with gardeners John Gunderson and Scout Kerensky-Coodley.
This time was my second visiting the elevated park, now one of New York City’s most visited attractions. My first visit had been in the lush summer of 2015; therefore, seeing it in winter offered a stark contrast—and a new perspective.
But, the space itself had changed as well. New sections had been added since my last visit, and like a dynamic plant community, the High Line had undergone a kind of succession. Instead of young trees rising in a grassland, new buildings had emerged around it, altering the light, the views, and even the visitor experience. In some areas, safety scaffolding framed the path, a reminder that the city itself is always in flux.
As we walked, we talked about how the pandemic had temporarily closed the High Line, leaving the garden untended for months. In the absence of gardeners, nature took over—vines wove themselves over benches with effortless grace, and self-seeded plants found their way into the cracks. It was a reminder that even in the most curated spaces, life persists on its own terms.
The High Line remains a powerful model for how we can emulate nature in even the most urban environments. Revisiting it through these images, I hope you’ll find as much value in its beautiful winterscape as I did.
THE STORY OF THE HIGH LINE
I love how the High Line tells a story as you traverse its path. A woodland gradually transitions into a grassland, then a few short trees appear before you approach a wetland. Elsewhere, a long prairie unfolds before you rise among trees in the flyover. This design approach mirrors what we see in nature. Wherever the environment changes, the plant community shifts in response.
It made me wonder why don’t we embrace this strategy more as gardeners and professionals? Yes, we often work with smaller spaces, but it’s not difficult to take advantage of the edges that define our surroundings. Instead of following prescriptive formulas—trees here, shrubs there, perennials and annuals in neat arrangements—what if we started by asking what kind of plant community does this space most resemble, and how can I plant in harmony with that?
At the southern terminus of the High Line, visitors first experience the Gansevoort Woodland, and the pewter bark of Betula populifolia (gray birch) shines absent leaves.
From the Gansevoort Woodland, one enters the Washington Grasslands. While dominant with herbaceous perennials, a few Cotinus coggygria ‘Grace’ rise out of the fray of stems to help transition visitors out of the woodland.
The grasslands transition to an area with more prominent winter structure from Rhus typhina (staghorn sumac). Here, every nook, cranny, and gnarled stem can be seen on the small trees.
The wetland plantings near the sundeck feature mature Rhus glabra (smooth sumac) on the left and a mixture of hydric perennials on the right.
With the flyover, one feels like you are walking some backwoods trail in the mountains as your slight gain in elevation helps you see the forest from a different perspective. And, it is truly amazing to see trees growing on the High Line in mere feet of substrate. In the flyover a mixture of magnolias including Magnolia virginiana (sweetbay) and Magnolia macrophylla (big-leaf magnolia) have found purchase in the shallow soil.
There is a warmth with Cornus sanguinea ‘Midwinter Fire’ used en masse in this shrubland.
Many sections of the High Line feature dominantly herbaceous plantings that resemble a prairie or meadow. The mixture of species is still effective in the depths of winter with different stem colors.
THE STEMS THAT REMAIN
It frustrates me that there’s not an English term for the standing stems that herbaceous plants leave at the end of the growing season that are so apparent in many parts of the High Line and in our plantings. For as we go about educating people of their importance, we need a name to celebrate their function of housing insects and their offering of winter interest.
The closest I can come is farm words like stubble, shock, stover, and sheaf. Maybe you have some ideas?
Even in winter perennials are beautiful with their different shades of brown.
An Amsonia (bluestar) stands proud on the High Line in winter (center right). The gardeners had commented that bluestars do good, almost too good, in this environment.
The seedheads of Coreopsis tripteris (tall coreopsis) provide blips of black in the winter.
Scout noted how the tall coreopsis had been pruned back higher up to keep their growth in check and prevent them from flopping over.
Asclepias (milkweed) follicles are so ornamental in winter.
Hibiscus seed heads still remain on solid stems in the winter.
The button seedheads of Monarda bradburiana (eastern beebalm) add a whimsical touch.
I’ve long admired the rusted candelabras of Veronicastrum virginicum (culver’s root) for their strong contrast against the more bleached brown colors we see in winter.
Besides leaving stems, the High Line staff also put up educational signage about pollinators and pollinator boxes.
And, besides winter stems, it was also good to see persistent fruit like these rose hips on Rosa glauca (red-leaf rose).
THE GROUND LAYER
As I walked the High Line, I forced myself to stop and pay attention to the ground layer. In the southeast, our growing season never stops, especially in winter when many plants have basal growth and any open gap can have winter weeds. I assumed the same was not true further north due to the extreme cold, but I was delighted to see hints of green in the under layer.
It is worth investigating the ground layer in winter to see where gaps may exist that weeds could occur, and I found myself exercising this practice on the High Line. Here, Carex laxiculmis ‘Hobb’ BLUE BUNNY (spreading sedge), a Monarda, and various grasses provide good ground cover.
While Carex laxiculmis ‘Hobb’ BLUE BUNNY (seen here) is native to parts of the US further north, I prefer to use our local Carex flaccosperma (blue wood sedge) further south.
In the flyover the native Pachysandra procumbens (Allegheny spurge) provides a carpet of green in this shady section.
Thin, wispy blades of bulb foliage emerge under the stems of herbaceous perennials.
There was a sign posted in this area discussing how they had sown 34 native wildflowers in this area to provide habitat for insects. They had a note that mowing would occur several times the first year to keep weeds in check while providing time for the wildflowers to take root.
THE FIRST FLOWERS OF SPRING
I saved the best for last—the flowers that enchant us in winter. It’s truly remarkable to walk the High Line with snow and freezing temperatures in the forecast and still find blooms defying the cold. In the muted palette of winter, they feel like quiet celebrations of the lengthening days.
Most gardens lack winter bloom, but these plants remind us that beauty isn’t confined to a single season. They prove that even in the coldest months, there’s still life, color, and wonder waiting to be noticed. If you're looking to bring a bit of this magic to your own space, you can’t go wrong with these choices.
Galanthus nivalis (common snowdrop) are dependable for being one of the first herbaceous plants to bloom in the new year. And, bulb foliage under trees can help to cover the ground while waiting on other perennials to emerge.
I love how Hamamelis × intermedia ‘Jelena’ was planted to appear emerging from the railroad tracks.
Hamamelis × intermedia ‘Jelena’ brings warmth to a cold day with its petals of citrus zest.
The buds scales of Salix chaenomeloides (Japanese pussy willow) pop to reveal silvery flowers underneath. This selection is one I’ve had luck with in east Texas.
I admired this pale cream-colored Hamamelis. Sadly, I don’t know the variety. They said it was a new addition to the garden.
It had been years since I had seen Viburnum × bodnantense ‘Dawn’ in bloom since they often don’t fare as well in the deep south. They are quite fragrant in the winter time.
I couldn’t resist sharing this final image from the High Line—more abstract art than anything else. A vine, perhaps Virginia creeper, is steadily colonizing a brick wall. It feels like the perfect note to end on. It’s a quiet reminder that no matter how much we build and shape the world around us, nature always finds a way to take root and grow.
#keepgrowing