Snowdrops

When we moved into our current home, in late Winter, the garden was in many ways a mystery. It was certainly a very positive feature of the house; compared to many we had seen, it was relatively large, though also (we thought) manageable. We knew it needed work but our old house and garden had also been a "fixer upper" so we were not daunted by this and rather looked forward to putting our own stamp on things. Looking back, we were being rather naive as we had underestimated the work involved in fixing up the cottage and had also conveniently forgotten that we had moved into our previous home before we had children and therefore had more time and money to spend!

On early inspection, the plot was dominated by overgrown trees and shrubs which had been left to form a boundary between the garden and the river (understandable as the previous owners also had young children). The far end of the garden was completely overgrown with weeds and the borders that did exist were largely covered (as they still are to some extent) with swathes of ivy which covered the river banks and clung to the trunks and branches of trees and shrubs. There were no visible flowers and we looked forward to discovering what secrets the garden held as the months unfolded.

It was a joy when, in those first days in the garden, I saw glimpses of white amongst the ivy and pulled aside the vines to reveal a small drift of snowdrops. They seemed to bow to me a gentle greeting as I removed the ivy which had been covering them and allowed them to feel the warmth of the Winter sun.

It is a lovely feeling to discover hidden flowers or plants and then to wonder who had planted them. As the years have passed, and more little gems have been discovered, its obvious that the garden was once loved and well tended, though (presumably for previous owners as well as ourselves) busy lives and other priorities have meant that it has been neglected for some time.

The snowdrops are still there and I smiled at them this morning as they opened their petals for the first time this year. The ivy still threatens them and I promised them "this year" I would find them a proper home. I have plans to create a proper Winter border in view of the house and also to split the snowdrops as soon as they have finished flowering in order to start another drift in the woodland garden I intend to develop under the deciduous trees and shrubs along the river bank. More of those plans later. For now, the little nodding snowdrops would have to wait and I contented myself with clearing some of the dead growth from last years perennials.

As I worked, I also discovered flowers on our camellia and quince and, whilst these were a welcome sight, I hoped they had not appeared prematurely. It has been said many times that the bulbs, trees and birds are better at predicting the onset of Spring than we are, though I have lost camellia blossoms to a late frost before! That said, it is an old tradition that cloudy or stormy weather on 2nd February (Candlemas Day) means that the worst of Winter is over. Associated with this tradition, snowdrops or "Candlemas bells" were thought to be a sign of hope in the Christian religion as these deceptively robust little plants can brighten even the dullest, coldest of days.

Thaw by Edward Thomas

Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed The speculating rooks at their nests cawed And saw from elm-tops, delicate as flowers of grass, What we below could not see, Winter pass.