This past winter was the fourth-mildest on record for the lower 48 states, according to those who keep track of such things. My neighborhood never got the memo.
When friends starting boasting about their snowdrops blooming in February, I had plenty of snow but nary a flower. Some years, February brings me hundreds of snow crocuses and snow irises. January appearances are not at all unusual. Gold and purple cheer the shopworn garden and send me into a frenzy of cutting back and clearing up debris to uncover the flowers.
This past winter has been the first time in 25 years in my Centennial garden that not one crocus, not a single iris showed up. By the end of February, a search of the few patches in my garden that weren’t still covered in a foot of snow turned up one cyclamen and a handful of violas in bloom. I suspect both of these froze in autumn and spent the winter in suspended animation, only to resurrect during a brief but temporary thaw.
March 1 arrived, but still no flowers. Now, I’m the first to admit that flowers in winter are pure frippery, something to remind us that spring will get here eventually, little more. Even in a good year, Colorado gardeners don’t get Cecile B. DeMille scenes with casts of thousands.
Still, flowers in winter are what make Colorado winters bearable for those of us who don’t ski. If I wanted snowbanks from October through March, I’d go back to Wisconsin, where I was born, or some other spot where snow falls by Halloween and doesn’t budge until well after Easter.
I’m well aware that the Colorado gardener who complains about too much moisture is a fool when too little is all the more commonplace. Gardens don’t mind overly generous snowfalls even if gardeners do. Around here, drought is the killer. Friends in Colorado Springs, where things have been much drier than normal this past year, would gladly trade winter flowers for much-needed rain or snow.
Besides, there are compensations. This is also the first winter in 25 years that I haven’t had to water, not even once. Setting sprinklers out in winter has to be one of the most thankless tasks there is. Plus I’ve probably saved at least a couple hundred dollars. Water in my junior-water-rights suburban neighborhood is that expensive.
And a snow-covered winter has advantages beyond free water. All of the thousands of bulbs that normally show up a few here and a few there will likely jump into action all at once, concentrating color and creating scenes my garden has never before witnessed. April should be spectacular.
On March 6, a handful of crocuses finally made an appearance. A week of warm days later, hundreds more joined in.
Naturally, by the time the snow melted, the soil had dried out. As I get ready to drag hoses, I’m crossing my fingers for more snow.
Marcia Tatroe’s most recent book is “Cutting Edge Gardening in the Intermountain West” ($29.95, Johnson Books). E-mail her at mtatroe@q.com.
