One six ounce glass of snowdrops…
We picked as many as would fit in a juice glass. It was raining.
Almost all of these bottles were scratched up by our chickens. They are perfect vases for snowdrops.
…eleven small but exquisite snowdrop bouquets. Snowdrops have a fragrance that is similar to sweet alyssum or certain daffodils (not poeticus or jonquils). We picked these at the old garden and the truck was filled with the scent of them on the way home.
Snowdrops line the path to the secret garden at the old house. If you look carefully you can see the white blur of snowdrops beyond the footbridge.
I will be moving as many snowdrops as I can manage to the new garden. Did you notice there were three different kinds of snowdrops in that juice glass?
There are many more kinds of snowdrops in the world than what you see here
When my fourteen-year-old saw the glass full of snowdrops, he said, “Ah, spring.”
In the end, this may be the most important thing about frost: Frost slows us down. In spring, it tempers our eagerness. In fall, it brings closure and rest. In our gotta-go world–where every nanosecond seems to count–slowness can be a great gift. So rather than see Jack Frost as an adversary, you could choose to greet him as a friend.
in A Gardener’s Guide to Frost: Outwit the Weather and Extend the Spring and Fall Seasons