Snow and Daffodils

My trusty Google calendar* assured me that April 15 was the day of the last frost. I assumed they (and the NSA) know precisely where I live and have access to the weather records for the past gazillion years for this particular location. But I didn’t believe them. Even before Thursday night when the temperature descended into the high twenties. And my distrust is fully verified this dark morning as I look out at the street light and see the heavy wet snow flakes lazily drifting earthward – toward my sweet daffodils.

Fortunately, rather than believing Google, I did some research (on Google) and found that mid-May is a more common ‘last frost date’ for Worcester county. I also learned that this ‘last frost date’, like all predictions, is more a matter of probability than of certainty. The truth is, some years we don’t get another frost after mid-April and some years the last frost comes in late May. And, scrolling through my calendar, I see a second ‘last frost date’ on May 22^nd. Maybe April 15^th means ‘it’s possible we won’t get another frost’ and May 22^nd means ‘it’s very unlikely we’ll get another frost.’

My ‘sweet’ daffodils are actually quite hardy and can usually take care of themselves quite well. They’ve been blooming around the Temple for over a month and seem to be quite at home in the variable temperatures of this time of year. They must have some particular substance in their cells that prevents the water in them from freezing. Or some specific quality of elasticity of their cell walls that allows the water to freeze (and expand) without damaging the cells. However they do it, they’ve mastered the art of living well right where they are.

Of course, even the daffodils have their limits. If the temperature goes below twenty I would be worried for them. And this morning, I’m not worried about the temperature as it’s only around freezing, but I am worried about the weight of the snow. These elaborate yellow, white and orange trumpets, so jaunty and hopeful in yesterday’s bright sun, were not designed to carry a load of wet snow. Most of them will probably gracefully bend over, giving way to the unexpected weight of the white flakes. But some of the stems will crease and break for good. And of the ones that bend, some will never recover their upright posture.

As the gardener, there is much that I do not control. The ordained variability of the weather of each day and each season is a necessary and sometimes frustrating condition of all growing things. Bright sun, heavy snow. Some flowers bloom for weeks, others just for a day or two and others fail to bloom.

My job is to work with whatever is happening and to do my best to appreciate it all.

The falling snow is soft and enchanting. Later today I’ll go around and collect the fallen daffodils to bring them in for bouquets around the empty Temple.