The snowdrops are blooming in the F&F garden.
How can you beat the joy that snowdrops bring when they come into flower? My garden is still young, and these clumps only a year old after I planted them in the green last March, but they are already settling in happily.
These are common but much-loved Galanthus nivalis, and though I do have a few doubles and other varieties in the garden, I’m certainly not a galanthophile. That said, I plan to buy a modestly-priced but unusual snowdrop this spring – either a yellow form or one of the lovely large-petaled ones – to plant on the grave of a much-missed pet.
More than any other flower, snowdrops remind me that even when sad things happen – from little sad things like the death of a pet, to those big horrible sad things that happen to everyone – there is always hope, always little pinpricks of light in the dark or bright white flowers in the gloomy weather to remind us that better things are to come.
I also love the way double snowdrops tease you. Unless you know that they’re double, you wouldn’t think to lift their blooms and look at their ornate, colourful underskirts.
Most of my snowdrops are growing in a line under the terrace that houses the Virginia Creeper. But I’ve also planted a number of clumps in the woodland patch, and here they are, coming up happily. They’re small at the moment, but over the next few years, these plants will clump up and spread, eventually colouring the ground where they grow bright white.
And whoever gets to enjoy that, whether it’s me or another lucky couple living in this house, will be reminded that better things are soon to come than the winter, even though really there are few better things than a snowdrop.