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Winter is the least distracting time to critique the garden’s design, but without the usual blanket of snow that turns off the color I’ve found it a little more challenging to figure out what’s missing, bones-wise.

By “bones” I mean the framework that holds the garden together in all seasons — a skeleton and musculature underneath the clothing of foliage and flowers. In the winter, the garden should look pretty good totally naked.

I realized the other day that I might be in danger of relying too heavily on evergreens to keep my winter interest piqued. My garden certainly needs a few more to give it winter weight (in this case, not a bad thing), but I should never forget about the deciduous shrubs and trees that are centerfold-worthy throughout the year.

Bayberry (Myrica pensylvanica) doesn’t really want to lose its covering of leathery leaves but when it does, waxy bluish berries dotted up and down along gray lichen-spotted branches are revealed to us and the birds. Their winter frame is surprisingly sturdy, too — like a wrestler in a crouch.

If my property were larger I’d give plenty of space to staghorn sumac (Rhus typhina) because I’m a sucker for it. There’s a particularly handsome colony — it spreads by root suckers like fire through disturbed areas — on Route 24 between Tiverton and Fall River. I live in fear of driving off the road rubbernecking its winter latticework and seed candelabras and I drive just as distractedly when it leafs out in spring and blazes in the fall.

I planted the dwarf Tiger Eye sumac (R. typhina ‘Bailtiger’), whose antlers won’t grow much taller than six feet, in my back border where its bright yellow summer foliage is shaded to a less-blinding chartreuse and dons an eye-catching flash-orange in the fall. Once established, it will send up suckers (probably this year, its third year in), but since space is at a premium back there I’ll have to pull most out for containers, friends and the compost heap.

I wouldn’t want it to encroach on the pagoda dogwood (Cornus alternifolia ‘Argentea’). That plant has wedding cake tiers of delicate variegated leaves that sparkle — especially in front of something deeply evergreen. It will grow slowly to about 15 feet tops and is reputedly happiest with full sun all morning. Mine gets shade most of the day except during part of the afternoon. Its leaves haven’t burned (a danger for almost any variegated plant subjected to summer’s most intense rays) but it also hasn’t flowered. In the winter, its whorls of shiny black stems pick up the light and dance a waltz.

Whenever gardeners start rhapsodizing about bark, my inner 13-year-old snorts and rolls her eyes. She should just shut up, though, because bark is one of the best things going for winter, snow cover or not. From Japanese stewartia’s (Stewartia pseudocamellia) multi-colored puzzle pieces to striped maple’s (Acer pensylvanicum) stripes, there’s a bark pattern to excite everyone. Do you notice birches when they’re all leafed out or are you seeing them now as if they appeared out of nowhere? Paperbark maples (Acer griseum) have deep russet peels like river birch, a compact growth habit — to about 25 feet — and muscular branch structure.

A bark with washboard abs

But then nothing beats a Japanese maple for muscle. It’s only through the winter that we get to ogle their washboard abs and ripped biceps. There are almost too many different kinds of Japanese maple, selected for leaf shape and color, bark color, and height. I love plain old Acer palmatum because it gets tall enough that you can stare up into its tiny-leafed canopy and over winter it flaunts the long and lean muscles of a dancer.

When there are so many design elements to obsess about, I find it easy to forget about plants’ year-round structure. I don’t think about my own sturdy skeleton much either. But it’s what holds me upright and I’m glad for the winter reminder that good-looking bones hold the garden together, too.

Kristin Green is the interpretive horticulturist at Blithewold Mansion, Gardens & Arboretum in Bristol. She has worked at Blithewold since 2003 and has written its garden blog (blog.blithewold.org) since 2007.