Crocus tommasinianus

Not all gardeners have room for drifts. Or copses or swales or wealds. Some of us simply haven't got the space.

...or do we?

If you doubt your ability to cultivate a drift, I present to you: Crocus tommasinianus.

This sweet little late winter bloomer sows itself in patches - with grace, abandon, and good composition. All in the space of a dollhouse-sized acre.

Unconvinced, you say? Your postage-stamp sized parcel could never accommodate any sort of drift, let alone drifts (plural!)?

Well then, I now present to you: documentation of my barnyard, against a backdrop of endless swaths of cottony, sky-blue Crocus tommasinianus.


Dogwood bud, with dog

We picked a little pot of flowers: snowdrops, crocus, silver maple, dogwood.


Clivia miniata

My good friend Nannette gave me this clivia three years ago. The clivia summers under our pear tree and winters in a cold, dimly lit corner of Matt's "office," a small, precarious, dangerous perch above the staircase where a paperwork avalanche-waiting-to-happen also resides. The clivia likes being pot-bound and dried out, and I like providing those conditions for it.

Round about mid-February, I haul the clivia off the perch - in a teetering sort of way - and into the warm, bright kitchen, where a good soaking ensues. I put the clivia on a chair so it can be one of the family, and it responds in kind by promptly (about three days later) shooting up a flower spike.

If it happens to be sunny late in the afternoon, the clivia becomes charged with volcanic energy and turns this marvelous molten color.