As Winter and Spring fight the battle for dominance this month, the weather swings between warm afternoons of sunshine to frigid, ice-crusted walkways and windshields. It’s bearable because of the knowledge that true Spring will be here soon - and honestly, there’s nothing we can do about it, so we might as well find some hope somewhere! The bulbs are emerging and are only temporarily paused by the aforementioned crusts of ice. Did you know that bulbs such as snowdrops, crocuses, or hyacinths have a protective waxy coating for exactly this reason? They can partially emerge, be completely covered in ice and snow, and just pick up where they left off once it has melted.
The arrival of the snowdrops (aka galanthus) mark the happiest time in the garden year to me. They are the first flowers to bloom, just slightly ahead of the crocuses. Sometime in February they start to emerge, and make a slow and steady progression from the tiniest leaf tips to open flowers in mid-March. They’re tangible proof of the triumph of light over dark, appearing just when daylight hours are becoming noticeably longer, and they herald all of the beauty, joy, and growth in the garden that is to come. Everything else comes afterward, until the cycle wraps up in November or December and will begin again next year. They are the first bookend of the garden year; the last is when even the kale gives up and rests.
Yesterday, I watched as two of our honeybees nestled themselves in amongst a cluster of snowdrops. The afternoon was balmy for March; over ten degrees in the sun and sheltered from the wind on the South side of the house. The bees vanished amongst the densely crowded flowers; I only knew that they were still there from the nodding and wiggling downward-facing flower cups. And today it’s frigid, windy, and we woke up to a light covering of snow that fell overnight.
There was one large clump of these snowdrops hidden in a ditch near the barns when we moved here; I split it up several years ago, leaving some there and starting several smaller patches around the house. I think they’re Galanthus nivalis 'Flore Pleno' (pictured here; maybe I should start selling them at that price!) I wonder who planted them here and when? Were they a gift from a friend? Were they tucked in next to to where a house once was? Did someone else take as much delight in their late-winter arrival as I do now? These tiny beauties have several layers of frilly petals edged by the loveliest green; they’re very short in stature (perhaps that’s why I feel an affinity to them). I love that I have to get down low to appreciate them; I only pick a few each year so the bees can enjoy the rest. The bulbs will multiply over time as each little cluster expands, and can eventually be divided again. They bloom earliest in a sunny spot; they seem to grow in most kinds of soil and are tough as nails. They can also be planted in weathered terra cotta pots for an especially sweet display, and to highlight these tiniest of flowers. Someday when I have an English-cottage style of garden with sweet nooks and crannies and stone walls, I will do just that. If you don’t have snowdrops in your life, I think it’s worth finding some - the joy they bring is such a balm in the final days of winter.
Hang in there through this last week of winter - the gardening year has just begun!