In past years, I’ve regaled you with photos of snowdrops sprouting near a stone wall Reggie and I passed nearly every morning on our walks, a place where crocuses sprouted in the shade of trees that have since been felled. Now that Reggie is old, we don’t go that far on our morning walks: just around the block if the weather’s nice, and not even that when it’s wet or the footing is treacherous. When you live with an old dog, you suit your stride (and the length of your walks) to his abilities.
This year, thanks to a milder-than-usual winter, the snowdrops have come to us. I knew there was a cluster of perennial bulbs in our front yard, planted by other hands beneath the shelter of our front eaves…but most years, those snowdrops lie buried beneath a winter’s worth of snow raked from our roof. How frustrating it must be to be a cluster of snowdrops planted in a place that is perpetually piled with snow. How many years, one after the other, have these resilient plants sent up hopeful sprouts, only to hit a cold ceiling of snow?
When J and I visited the Wellesley Greenhouses this past weekend, we encountered a similar example of vegetative resilience: an otherwise ordinary-looking shingle plant that is blooming for only the second time in eleven years.
It’s a sight J and I would have normally missed, but an enthusiastic greenhouse worker pulled us aside, having noticed our cameras: “You’ll want to get a photo of this!” When, normally, would an otherwise ordinary-looking plant sprouting otherwise nondescript greenish-white flowers draw attention of a couple of amateur paparazzi? The only thing remarkable about these flowers is the simple fact that they are there. On a plant where nothing has bloomed for nine out of eleven years, this year there is something: a tiny handful of hope.
It cheers me to consider the vegetative persistence of both these plants–not exactly late bloomers, but blooms that appeared in due time. For so many years, the time wasn’t right for our front-yard snowdrops or the Wellesley College shingle plant: for so many years, these two have been quietly going about their vegetative business in the shadow of other, showier specimens. But this spring, for whatever reason, time itself has blossomed into fullness: a moment when the stars and season perfectly aligned, sending a clear signal to Bloom Now, without delay.
Mar 7, 2012 at 6:45 pm
What unusual and beautiful.flowers. Did the greenhouse worker mention what it was? (I also like snow drops, perhaps because i am so desperate to see flowers after a long winter of greys and browns.)
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Mar 7, 2012 at 6:51 pm
He said it was called “shingle plant” or “shingle vine,” but I don’t know the scientific name. (There seem to be several species with that common name.) He actually was on his way to look up more information about it, since it was so unusual for it to flower.
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Mar 9, 2012 at 7:53 am
That’s so amazing, these things that bloom once in a number of years. It does seem a hopeful sign – all things in their time. And fortuitous that you were there – and the greenhouse worker alerted you – when it was blooming.
It reminds me a bit of when I took my parents to the Willard House and Clock Museum in Grafton – after living there for umpteen years, I’d never been. My dad used to repair clocks and watches in our basement as he’d been trained for it but never found a job in the profession. Anyway, we arrived just before noon, serendipitously, and got to hear all of their grandfather clocks going off at once in their large hall (they stagger them a bit so you can hear them individually).
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Mar 9, 2012 at 11:07 am
Snowdrops already?
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Mar 9, 2012 at 6:18 pm
A perfectly beautiful and timely posting. Thank you for today’s food for thought. I do so enjoy Hoarded Ordinaries and am so pleased when I see a new positing to greet me in the morning..
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Mar 9, 2012 at 6:39 pm
Snowdrops, right on time. 🙂
Leslee, I’m enjoying the mental picture (imagined audio?) of an entire roomful of grandfather clocks going off, one after another. Just imagine a roomful of cuckoo clocks!
Suzanne, I’m glad you enjoyed this. It was an enjoyable outing, so I’m happy to “share” it with everyone.
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Mar 10, 2012 at 3:50 am
Interesting! I’ve never seen anything like that shingle plant.
Now that you know where the snowdrops are, you can rake that cold ceiling of snow out of the way so they can emerge each spring — if you’re so inclined, that is! I’m surprised the bulbs could survive without coming up each year to get some sunlight.
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