I have had these crocuses for over twenty, maybe twenty-five years! Or should I say croci for plural—but I have never heard anyone say “croci.” I have had them so long I cannot remember when I planted them. Every year, they come up at the end of February to the beginning of March, and they come up faithfully. I take them as a sign that winter is over, and though spring may not be fully here yet, it is a sign that it is within spitting distance.
This year they came out late. They popped up just about the middle of last
week, which was past the midpoint of March.
This is the latest they have sprung that I can remember. But guided by God’s diurnal hand, they
arrived. Their tardiness is understandable
this year. We had one of the coldest
winters in memory and two big snowfalls.
The last one was at the end of February, a twenty-four inch pile of
flakes that transformed Staten Island into a tundra. I was worried the crocuses would never make
it with all that snow. I did try to
remove the snow from their ground, but I didn’t know if the snow had aborted
their resurrection. But God is in
control, and here they are.
They are only about three inches high. Cute little things. The flowers last two to three weeks.
The yellows always seem to come up a few days earlier than
the purples. I’m going to look for more
and plant them for next year.
