Crocus hope

A few months ago I bought some crocus bulbs on impulse, and planted them one dry day in between rainy ones. A couple went into a patch of hard, stony soil in a flowerbed, with the rest sliding effortlessly into softer, fresher soil in troughs, tubs and pots. As I planted I fondly foresaw them bursting forth in late winter, their burgeoning presence and bright splashes of colour lifting spirits on darkly grey days, as they heralded early spring's arrival. 

But I had not factored in the squirrels; or rather, I had forgotten all about them, and their predilection for bulbs... Two days later I returned home to upturned soil and exposed roots, and several carelessly shed crocus bulb husks, souvenirs of my short-lived spring dreams... as if the squirrels thought I needed reminding of what exactly they had come despoiling for. The only undisturbed areas were the stony patch, a highly waterlogged pot - the soil, presumably, too thick and oozy for squirrel claws - and a solitary, unscathed trough. I had to hope that a few bulbs would therefore survive - though realistically, they were more likely to rot in the especially sodden pot. 

And then life moved on, as life must, and I'd almost forgotten about my crocuses, until Christmas morning. And... Oh! What a gift for Christmas day! - the first tiny shoots of spring; green blades rising from dark, wintry earth. No, not crocuses - narcissi, in the trough the squirrels had left undisturbed. This prompted me to look closely at the poor, pebbly patch... and yes! Pushing their way through soil too hard for squirrels, we have two almost unbelievable, defiant little crocuses!

What have I learned from all this? Firstly, thanks to some quick Googling, that squirrels will avoid certain bulbs, narcissi among them, as they find them toxic. That's useful information for future planting. Secondly, that even the poorest, stoniest, most unpromising soil can still nurture, still provide safety, and lead to growth, to new life and flourishing. And thirdly, that there is something heart-lifting and hope-filled about a few miniscule stems, proclaiming the inevitability of spring, even after the harshest of winters. It is a glimmer of hope in an otherwise largely dark time: a reminder of new life, and of the unquenchable light which the darkness cannot overcome. 

And at the start of a new year, with all its unknowns, its likely challenges, anxieties and uncertainties, as well as its blessings and joys, every glimmer of hope is worth holding on to.


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