MY NEW GARDEN is so small I didn't plant a single witch hazel. After all, these are bulky shrubs that grow 12 feet tall and wide. Yet nearly everyone who has visited ignores the plants I do have while searching around for one. I find myself apologizing, explaining if I only had the space I'd plant a whole grove of them. One horticulturist seemed bewildered, then pretty much said, "No witch hazel! And you call yourself a gardener?"

What inspires such devotion? Are witch hazels the litmus test of a real gardener, and have I flunked it?

Witch hazels (Hamamelis species and cultivars) are dependably hardy, easy to grow and widely available, so it isn't their scarcity or exotic looks that makes them so desirable. Maybe if they unfurled their yellow, coppery orange or red little flowers in midsummer they'd be overlooked. But in January and February, when the garden is mostly dreary and quiet, the spidery blooms of witch hazels are the main show. And such a satisfying one — I can't think of a better gardening experience than catching the sweetly astringent scent of their flowers on a cold winter morning, or cutting a few twigs to bring inside to fill a room with fragrance.

But let's be realistic. Witch hazels have their drawbacks. Many of them sucker, so it's a constant chore to cut off the new sprouts. They have the annoying habit of holding onto their foliage, so the little flowers, which should be blooming on bare branches, are largely hidden in tattered brown leaves. I've spent many a frigid day, sharp scissors in hand, carefully snipping off old leaves to reveal the blooms. I was told that my plant clung to its leaves because I'd kept it juvenile by pruning it so much. Which of course made me feel guilty, as if I'd stunted the poor thing. But I've seen big, old shrubs in the Washington Park Arboretum that seem to retain their leaves some years, while shedding them in others, so I'd guess it has more to do with the weather, or the tendencies of specific varieties, than overeager pruning.

You can minimize this problem by buying witch hazels when in bud or bloom, so you can check out the leaf-drop situation. Also, when the flowers are open you can choose plants with the strongest fragrance, which is one of witch hazel's greatest virtues. Now and next month, when witch hazels are blooming, is when nurseries should carry the best selection.

Other selling points include drought tolerance once established, disease and pest resistance, and showy enough fall color to make witch hazels a multiseason shrub. In autumn, the leaves of most varieties turn to shades of gold, orange and scarlet before — if you're lucky — they fall off.

Because of their spreading, open-vase shape, there's room to plant other winter bloomers beneath and around witch hazels. Evergreens like bergenia, sweet box (Sarcococca species) and black mondo grass are good companions to fill out the picture when witch hazels are bare. The narrow, black blades of the mondo grass are especially effective as their shape echoes the spidery filaments of the witch hazel flowers. Hellebores bloom just a little later than the witch hazels, carrying the flower show on until the daffodils and tulips push their way up through the ground.

Now, a confession. Recently I decided I no longer want to apologize for not having a witch hazel. Truth is, I can't make it through the winter without one. Maybe I can make space in the corner by the garden shed, or espalier a copper-flowered one against the back of the house or . . . .

Valerie Easton is a Seattle freelance writer and contributing editor for Horticulture magazine. Her e-mail address is valeaston@comcast.net.