I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing robin, sing:
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
|a patch of snowdrops in snow|
I must admit, for a long time I just didn't get the whole love of snowdrops. Snowdrops are so ardently beloved that gardeners are known to become obsessed with them. These passionate snowdrop collectors even have their own name: Galanthophiles (Galanthus being the botanical name for the genus of snowdrops). However, when I lived down south and could have the bolder and brighter crocuses and daffodils blooming by January or February, this little plant was just so easy to overlook.
However, after having snowdrops in my northern garden and seeing just what these tiny, early-blooming flowers can do, I can't help but be impressed.
In the time since they began blooming at the end of February, my patch of snowdrops has suffered through two snow storms and multiple days of below freezing temperatures.
One month later, they look a little worse for wear but are impressively still in bloom, opening their little battered wings during sunny warm spells in invitation to precocious pollinators.
Having leaves with specially hardened tips to break through freezing soil and containing special anti-freeze proteins to prevent ice crystals from forming and destroying the flowers, this surprising powerhouse of a plant is built to withstand that rocky transition from winter to spring. The little blooms are even fragrant.
I might end up one of those enthusiastic, snowdrop-loving Galanthophiles yet.