Transplants

Day 151: Several years back, I was bulling my way through brush on an abandoned and badly overgrown logging road with no other reason than wanting to see where it ended when a little fleck of white caught my eye. "Snowdrops?" I said. "In the middle of bloody nowhere?" That to me was an invitation. Some time later (it might have been a year or more), I ventured on the same journey again, this time with a trowel and plastic bag in hand, thinking I'd dig a few out of the soil to take home to put in my garden. I was not thinking in terms of "overgrown logging road" when I made my plans, and thus was moderately surprised when my trowel penetrated only the top half inch of moss before striking hard, compacted rock. No amount of force, physical or linguistic, could release the bulbs from their prison. I had just about given up on the project, intending to come back with dynamite (or at the very least, a pry bar) when I spotted a few near the edge of the roadbed. The rock was less consolidated there, and I was able to free up about a dozen bulbs. From that rough beginning, I now have a nice little patch of one of my favourite spring flowers, enough that I may move a few further along the northside flower bed where they will be welcome to spread to their hearts' content.

Snowdrop Surprise

Day 120: It's possible some of my readers will remember that last year about this time, I dug up a small clump of Snowdrops (non-native, found growing a ways off the Bud Blancher Trail) and planted them in my front flower bed. You might remember that. I did not. They took me totally by surprise while I was out looking for "blog shot" material this morning, to the extent that I said aloud, "Waitaminit, those aren't crocuses...that looks like Snowdrops" before the recollection hit me. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised.

Most of the plants I've purchased are carefully labelled, as are some I've lifted (I mean in the botanical sense, of course) from various locations, but only if I have enough information to determine species. "Snowdrops" is a fairly generic term. Are there varieties/cultivars? I'm sure there must be, but I could probably never track down the full identity of a plant discarded from someone's garden as these were. They were "volunteers," as my grandmother called them...bulbs pitched into the woods after being thinned, sufficiently sturdy to set up housekeeping on their own without so much as a shovelful of dirt dropped on top of them; plants with persistence and vigour. Go, you little Snowdrops, and thanks resetting my perspective.