First snow drops blooming.

One of my favorite quotes is an anony­mous one: “When the world wea­ries and ceases to sat­isfy, there is always the gar­den.” Nature pro­vides an unlim­ited source of inspi­ra­tion for me. Win­ter has its beauty just like every other sea­son. There is noth­ing like the hushed silence hov­er­ing over freshly fallen snow sparkling in the early morn­ing light or hoar frost cov­er­ing the trees and bushes as if dec­o­rated with glit­ter­ing fairy dust.

At this time of year, I always look for snow drops. They look sweet and del­i­cate, yet are tough enough to endure freez­ing tem­per­a­tures and snow­fall. They are the first signs of renewed life in the grow­ing sea­son here. And they come at a time when I start to miss work­ing in my gar­den and can’t wait for spring to spro­ing. Forc­ing bulbs indoors helps, but snow drops promise that even though win­ter isn’t over, spring will come soon. Dur­ing espe­cially hard win­ters, like a year ago, that is a great comfort.

When we first took our cur­rent apart­ment 5 years ago, snow drops were among the first bulbs Johann and I planted. We started with 6 pips. We noticed that more and more came up each year, but they have mul­ti­plied in a very spe­cial way. I counted 35 this year. They seem to be mul­ti­ply­ing very closely to the Fibonacci sequence. It would be inter­est­ing to start with just one and see what hap­pens. How­ever, I wouldn’t want to have to wait 9 years to see if we’d end up with 34!

Now that the first of our bulbs have started to bloom, we are excit­edly keep­ing an eye out for the cro­cus and not­ing how tall the daf­fodil leaves are. So much to look for­ward to!