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The small green shingle, suspended by twine, reads “I’m in the garden.” Hung from my front gate, this gift from a dear friend provides an explanation for neighbors who see my car in the driveway and ring the doorbell as if it’s malfunctioning. The old painted sign just works better than the bell, and it’s true: You’ll usually find me in the garden at any time of year.

Today I’ll pull on my old black rubber boots and muck about back there in the rain one last time. I’ve been dreaming of planting perennials that will hold their color all winter.

Adding winter zing I’ve got my eye on a new Heuchera, “Can Can,” whose description in Harts Nursery’s catalog for its Inspirations line of plants — ruffled purple leaves with metallic silver overlay — says it all. All Heucheras are fabulous in our climate because they don’t lose their leaves in winter.

Same thing with Tiarella, also known as foam flower. Both are just as bright, pretty and frilly in the chilly rain as they’ll be next summer when they send up tall wands of dainty flowers. (Bonus points for year-round leaves and flowers!)

If you’re looking for some winter interest, place Heuchera, Tiarella and Kaffir lily in among the primroses and winter pansies. They add enough zing to the winter garden to get us over the hump.

This will be my last hurrah in the garden, at least for a while. I’m sure you can relate. Sometimes life just takes priority over the garden, darn it.

Concentrate on living 

For the first time in my life, I’m going to have to concentrate on living and settle for just dreaming about gardening. That’s what all gardeners do over the winter, isn’t it? Dream of putting this here, and that there … all those grand plans for spring.

But what I’m talking about is a little different, so let me back up a smidge to explain my new arrangement. Recently, I was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. Yeah, me — the girl on TV. The picture of health.

Let me be upfront here: I’ve covered tragedies in 22 years of reporting, and this is not one of them. My chances of being cured are 90 percent or better. I will need chemotherapy, then radiation. I will lose my hair, but not my life.

So if you see me gardening on TV and the shovel accidentally knocks my wig cattywampus, not to worry … I’m learning a deeper, richer side of gardening that I’d like to share regardless of how it all “looks.”

So far, what I can report back to you about this new assignment, which taps into both 21st century medicine and the healing power of gardening, is this: If this is the worst thing that happens in my life, I can do this.

I may not feel well enough to be in the garden, digging, but that’s no cause for alarm. While the shingle that professes me to be “in the garden” will still hang on the front gate, I’ll be doing some “inner gardening” for a while.

After all, gardeners don’t have to be in the garden to be gardening. There’s no more fertile ground than our imaginations.

To be continued …