This little crocus, the only surviving crocus from a planting of about 200 corms several years ago (yes, only this one survived the rodents running rampant in the backyard) always seems to be taken out before its time. A couple of years ago it was a chipmunk – I came upon it munching on the torn flowerhead like some fancy dinner – and this year it was a snowstorm that leveled its pretty blooms, tamping them down for the rest of its finite life. The leaves, however, remain standing tall, well, short in this case – the point is that they’re standing, and drawing sunlight and nutrients, pouring energy and growth into next year’s buds. Life will begin again, with the proper preparation. The garden is the greatest teacher of those lessons, and every year around this time I learn things all over again.
