Scatter Me

March 2025 has been a miserable month. Cold, grey, and rainy. Today, much of the southern part of the province is recovering from a significant ice storm. After the winter we just had, March has been especially cruel. I count only one really nice day this month, and that is, quite frankly, depressing. March is supposed to offer hope amid the gloom. It has failed to make any effort whatsoever in that regard. Boo!

A half-hearted showing from the crocus.
They tried, but frigid and wet conditions (plus hungry
squirrels) kept blooms to a modest display. 

A few crocus have appeared, and my heart leaped with joy to see them. The flowers, however didn't stick around for long. They barely opened, and when they did, they were quickly devoured by hungry squirrels. I guess the squirrels had a rough winter, too. All this disappointment reminded me of a poem I wrote last year that features my beloved little crocus but whose subject matter is a tad sombre.

A hint of sunshine, but not enough to
coax the blooms to open.

Scatter Me

Scatter me among the crocus
when I’m dead and gone
Let me sleep among the flowers
singing springtime’s earliest song
Leave me be where I was happy
in the woodlands and the valleys

Scatter me among the crocus
when I’m gone

Let me sleep among the daisies
when my time is done
Rest in fields that stretch forever
gaze on skies that go on and on
Leave me be where life was easy
where I felt free and light and breezy
Let me sleep among the daisies 
when I’m gone

Leave me be among the clover
when I’ve seen my final dawn

Lay me down upon the green Earth
that gave so much so long
I have one last chance to nurture
to feed a lasting future
Leave me be among the clover
when I’m gone

Scatter me among the crocus 
when I’m dead and gone
Let me sleep among the flowers
singing springtime’s hopeful song
Leave me be where I was happy
in the soil on dirty hands and knees
Scatter me among the crocus
when I’m gone

A modest display

I hope that wasn't too dark. Perhaps lightening up the mood a bit is in order, so allow me to share this story. I don't remember what inspired this poem. I do remember humming a tune as I put words to paper. It was only after the poem was finished, typed up, and the "save" button selected, that I recognized a familiar cadence and phrasing. I'm pretty sure I wrote a poem set at least partly to the tune of "Oh, Susanna." I guess stranger things have happened.

More crocus will come. The best is still ahead of us.

Happy Gardening (once we eventually get there)!

Reluctant Crocus: A Haiku

March always gives me so much hope, and then it reminds me just a quickly that my hope was misguided. March 2022 has been brutal: cold, grey, and rainy. Crocuses have started to appear in the garden, but they have yet to really shine, staying tightly wrapped up against the elements.

Crocus enduring the March cold

My eager anticipation for my favourite spring flower got me thinking about how these small flowers seem disinclined to make an appearance in the miserable conditions we have been experiencing. Who can blame them? Since there are not many words that rhyme with crocus, my thoughts came out in the form a haiku.

Reluctant Crocus

Reluctant crocus

closed against lingering gloom

patient for star glow 

Colourful crocus waiting for warmth

Against my better judgement, I am holding on to hope that the crocuses will open wide and paint a tapestry of pastels across the garden floor in the week to come.

Happy Gardening!

Into the Drift: Ode to a Crocus

Last fall, seven months into the coronavirus pandemic and with a harsh winter looming, I pinned my hopes on spring. I do this every year, but 2020 brought with it, for obvious reasons, an especially intense sense of urgency. Despite limited supplies of fall selections, I ordered whatever I could manage and waited every day for the mail to arrive. When it did, I promptly planted my bulbs (and hopes) in the dirt.

A bee hovers above a crocus in
my Toronto front-yard garden

My first choice for bulbs is snow crocus. I love them. These flowers are among the earliest bloomers (preceded only by snowdrops). Snow crocus appear in early spring and sometimes even in late winter. They are smaller than the showy giant crocus, but I find them to be far more robust; they are hardy in harsh conditions and are happy to bloom abundantly, painting the garden in a spectrum of colours.

The diminutive snow crocus
is garden royalty

Crocus have the biggest impact when planted in drifts.  Drifts are large clusters of flowers that imitate what we might see in nature. Helpfully, crocus readily naturalize. That means they will multiply and spread. If you put six bulbs in the ground this fall, in a few years you will have a much larger collection. After years of adding crocus bulbs and allowing them to flourish, I am finally seeing the drifts I long for.

Crocus drift leaning toward
the light

To me, crocus are more than just a garden flower. They are a symbol of transformation. In the garden, the transformation is one from barren winter to fertile spring. On a personal level, the first crocus nudges me to transform myself: the hibernating bear I become every winter is awakened and ready to live. This power of transformation, in the garden and individually, inspired me to write an ode to a crocus.

Into the Drift

My body aches for summer’s warmth

My eyes are starved for the blush of colour

My idle thoughts are an anchor unformed

My spirit grows darker and duller

Embers of longing spark my depleted vitality

I am impatient for beauty unblemished    

Restless, I wait for spring’s soil-splitting shift

Petals emerge to declare a glowing reality

Melancholy melts, desire is replenished

Unburdened, my heart skips into the drift

I find you in the woodlands and in the meadows

I seek your hints of yellow, white, and mauve

Earthly offerings worthy of departed pharaohs

Purple chalices of perfume amid the groves

You are the first to dream of splendour 

Blooms cascade from your crown of corms

Empress of the garden, you are a grand gift  

Exquisite bouquets fill my senses tender

Each breath sustains and transforms

Unmoored, I float into the drift

The bees waltz among your bold clusters

Sipping nectar from your cups

Insect choirs serenade your exalted luster

I join them with my voice raised up

You are the season’s greatest pageant

Nature’s incantation, her finest opus

Your pastel palettes, hues and tints

Paint vistas of brilliance unimagined

Brushing enchantment upon the crocus

Bewitched, I am drawn into the drift

Cream Beauty Crocus

Happy gardening!

Bee in Crocus

I'm sharing this picture of a bee in my backyard crocus drift because it's too lovely not to.

Bee in Crocus
Toronto

Although this is an image of a single bee, there were plenty more bees among the crocus blooms. I'm always drawn to colourful crocuses, but on this day it was the sound of buzzing bees that captured my attention. They seemed quite content to be dusted in pollen.  Crocuses are among the first sources of bee food in early spring.