Crocus Thoughts

Winter's continued presence in the village and the woods of the eastern Ontario highlands is not entirely unforeseen — one can reasonably expect the long white season to lurk in the shadows and make surprise appearances until late April at the earliest, sometimes well into May. I remember a not so long ago year when a killing frost wiped out our newborn veggie patch on the first day of June. 

When winter finally retreats, the woods green up rapidly, and within a short time the whole forest is carpeted in bloodroot, trilliums, trout lilies and Dutchman's breeches, the tiny blooms of spring beauty and wood violets. No quiet and subtle entrance here for Lady Spring, but a triumphant fanfare, running footsteps, an explosion of shaggy green leafage and a riotous profusion of blooms bursting forth, almost within minutes.

Last night in my sleep I wandered along in a cloud of wildflowers and lacy green ferns, listened to a throng of rose-breasted grosbeaks singing in the overstory, watched an osprey hunting over the Clyde river. (Sigh) early days yet. My dreams will have to sustain me for another several weeks—at present the woods are a realm of deep snow and inky blue shadows, and so they will remain for quite a while.

There are gardening catalogues all over the house, and I dream of putting my hands in the good dark earth of the garden again, but the place is still three (four in places) feet deep in snow. For now, potted tulips and crocus thoughts will have to do.