A winter visit to the Muttart Conservatory reveals how plants, people, and stories continue to grow long after the outdoor garden has gone to sleep.
There is a particular moment each autumn when the gardening season begins to change.
For me, it arrives sometime between taking down the Halloween display and carrying armloads of spent flowers, ornamental kale, and weathered gourds to the compost pile.
The containers that brightened my yard through sunshine, rain, and frost have finally been emptied, and the garden itself seems ready for a well-earned rest.
Most of the outdoor gardening chores are now behind me.
Yet I always find myself in that in-between season. I'm not quite ready to embrace winter displays, evergreen arrangements, and holiday decorations, but neither am I digging in the soil every day.
Instead, my attention turns indoors.
It is the time of year when I begin rearranging botanical displays, moving plants from room to room, and finding new ways to enjoy the greenery that fills my home.
As the outdoor garden settles in for its winter rest, these indoor spaces begin to take centre stage.
It was while rearranging a few of those displays recently that I found myself reflecting on one of my favourite experiences from Garden Stories Season Two: a private tour through the Tropical Pyramid at Edmonton's Muttart Conservatory with horticulturist Laurie Frerichs.
On a cold December morning, with snow swirling around the Muttart's iconic glass pyramids, I stepped from a world of ice and wind into a lush tropical oasis.
The change was immediate.
Towering palms stretched toward the glass ceiling, vines climbed skyward, and layers of tropical foliage surrounded me in every direction.
Warm, humid air replaced the sharp bite of winter. For a gardener accustomed to Alberta's long winters, the experience felt almost magical.
As I adjusted to the warmth and took in the layers of tropical foliage, Laurie began sharing not only her knowledge of plants, but also the remarkable stories behind them.
For Laurie, tending the Tropical Pyramid means caring for an extraordinary collection of living specimens, some carrying histories that stretch across generations and continents.
Among the many plants thriving beneath the glass, one in particular captured my imagination.
A remarkable hibiscus, believed to be between eighty and one hundred years old, had travelled from England to Canada after being passed down from grandmother to granddaughter before eventually finding a home at the Muttart Conservatory.
The donor family referred to it as the Norwegian Rose Hibiscus, a name rooted in its family history.
As horticulturalists researched the plant more closely, however, it was identified as the historic hybrid Snow Queen Hibiscus, descended from Hibiscus cooperi.
Standing before it, I couldn't help but think about the generations of people who had cared for this plant and the remarkable journey that had brought it to Edmonton.
What struck me most was that I wasn't simply looking at a rare tropical specimen. I was looking at a family story preserved through a living plant.
That realization changed the way I viewed not only that plant, but the conservatory itself. It wasn't simply a collection of plants. It was a place where history, people, and nature intersect.
Drawing inspiration from her travels and from the mentors who helped shape her career, Laurie has left her own mark on the Tropical Pyramid.
Through thoughtful plant selections and striking vertical displays, she has helped recreate the layered structure of a natural rainforest, inviting visitors to look beyond the forest floor and into the world above.
The result is an experience that feels immersive, educational, and deeply inspiring.
In many ways, Laurie's story is now woven into the story of the tropical house itself. Her contributions have become part of Muttart Conservatory’s living history, rooted in daily care and attention and carried forward by those who will one day continue this work.
Yet the Muttart's story extends far beyond its collections.
For many visitors, the beginnings of their own stories were written here.
First dates. First kisses. Marriage proposals. Quiet conversations beneath a canopy of tropical foliage.
There are countless places to pause and reflect, surrounded by greenery and the gentle sound of moving water.
For others, those connections reach even deeper.
Edmonton is enriched by people from around the world, many of whom grew up surrounded by dense forests, tropical foliage, and climates very different from our own.
Within these glass walls, visitors can reconnect with familiar plants, colours, fragrances, and memories. For a moment, they can feel a little closer to where their story began.
As gardeners, we often think about plants in terms of beauty or care requirements. But spaces like the Muttart remind us that plants offer something deeper.
They provide comfort. They foster connection. They encourage us to slow down and care for something living.
While few of us have access to a tropical oasis like the Muttart, many of us recreate pieces of that experience at home.
A favourite philodendron reaching toward a sunny window. A treasured holiday cactus passed down through generations. A cutting shared by a friend. A carefully arranged botanical display that brings life and colour into the darker months of the year.
These small indoor gardens become personal refuges throughout winter, reminding us that growth continues even when the outdoor garden sleeps beneath the snow.
Perhaps that is why the experience has stayed with me long after the cameras stopped rolling.
As I turn my attention from outdoor containers and garden beds to my indoor collection, I find myself thinking often about that morning at the Muttart.
About the warmth, the greenery, and the passionate people who dedicate themselves to caring for these remarkable collections.
If there is one thing I carried home from that experience, it is the reminder that gardens are not confined by seasons. They simply change form.
And perhaps that is why the Muttart feels so special in the heart of winter.
While the landscape outside rests beneath snow and ice, life continues under glass. Plants continue to grow. Stories continue to unfold.
As I turn my attention back to my own indoor garden, I find myself appreciating the season's simple pleasures: a warm home, sunlight pouring through the windows, and the quiet joy of nurturing something green as winter takes hold outside.