I brought you an acorn today,
and some snowdrop bulbs.
I carried them from the place where I live
to this place, a place I've never been before.
Just for you.
. . . from "Pieces of Us"
Snowdrop
Galanthus
I have always thought the snowdrop was named for its ability to push through the snowy earth in early spring with its pure white "drop" of a blossom. It makes perfect sense, right? Not so!
I have also believed there was one variety of snowdrop, and I now know there are many.
The word "Snowdrop" may be derived from the German Schneetropfen (snow-drop), the teardrop-shaped pearl earrings popular in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.
ON BECOMING A GALANTHOPHILE
There is a place in the woods of Germany where a plane crashed many years ago. I've been told snowdrops bloom there in March, and I have to wonder who would have planted them in such a remote spot. So when I visited in the autumn three years ago, I took a handful of snowdrop bulbs and planted them under the carpet of leaf mold there. I have not been back, but I wonder every spring since if they grew?
When I returned from that trip, I wanted to commemorate it somehow, in a way that was meaningful to me alone. I decided to have a very small snowdrop tattooed on my wrist.
Something about this tiny flower has always held a special fascination for me, and when I discovered the connection with my father's story, a WWII Pilot who was shot down over Germany, the symbolism and magic only heightened. I knew I had to paint snowdrops as one of the illustrations for my book.
Full disclosure . . .
I have succumbed to the
temptation of Faux snowdrops,
just to tide me over until the real thing appears in the garden. No apologies for that!
The arrival of a single, first-edition bloom in early February was an event of epic proportions for me last week. With a bit of maternal protective instinct springing to life, something every gardener will understand, I rushed to find a small cloche for protection, offering this one its very own personal conservatory.
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I might also be an Anglophile, thanks to my obsession with English gardens. I will forever dream of strolling through a carpet of snowdrops covering a woodland floor, and of traveling to the gardens and nurseries there in February to shop from all the many varieties for my garden. They even have "Open Garden Days" devoted solely to the arrival of snowdrops! Can you just imagine being there and driving from garden to garden, stopping for tea in between and along the way? But these are only the dreams of a Midwest gardener who doesn't live in England. So I must be satisfied and grateful for the timing and the offerings of my own garden.
Speaking of Magic, I can have any flower,
even snowdrops, whenever I want with paper and paint.
That's the kind of magic anyone can conjure. Try it!
In the language of flowers, snowdrops have several meanings and are said to symbolize hope, consolation, and new beginnings. They are among the first flowers to bloom in the spring following a long, cold winter. Their ability to push through the snow and bloom despite the harsh conditions is seen as a symbol of resilience and perseverance.
Snowdrops and Hope seem meant for each other.