It seems to be a modern rite of spring for those of us lucky enough to have snowdrops in our gardens, to take pictures of the lovely things to share online. My snowdrops are not as showy as some, but they are sweet. [Update: I learned from a commenter that these are not true snowdrops!]
I don’t enjoy them enough. They start blooming in January — I see them from afar out the kitchen window, just little white spots on the landscape, inconveniently located under the manzanita. Sometimes I delay venturing out into the weather to stoop down close, until the first blooms are starting to fade.
I read that it has been a tradition in Ireland not to bring them into the house until St. Brigid’s Day, and maybe I thought that I could also wait that long.
But most of mine are fading by the first of February. This morning when I saw pictures of two different snowdrop variations on blogs, I wondered if I could find just a couple of newish flowers on mine, and I did find more than that. Now they are on my windowsill in a place of honor, blessing the kitchen.
Update: It has come to my attention that these dear flowers are not called snowdrops, but snowflakes. They are in the same tribe as the snowdrops – or maybe not! It depends on which Wikipedia page I look at. Anyway, they are called Leucojum and snowdrops are Galanthus. And now I’m even more determined to get some Galanthus to plant next fall!
are coming on dear Margarita Manzanita, buds on the currant bushes and calla lilies. I went out and took pictures just now under the umbrella, so everything is too wet to be optimal, revealing how one of my asparagus beds is less than optimal – we didn’t dig down deep enough into the adobe clay, and now there is standing water. That may not portend good for the future of that planting.
But they keep growing and blooming. Overall, they appear to thrive in it. I am reminded of this verse from the hymn “O Worship the King,” which likens God’s provision for us generally to the moisture that falls.
Gladsome Lights 