One of the first flowers I have a memory of feeling something special for is the simple, unassuming – prairie crocus.
I grew up on a military base in northern Alberta. Our house backed onto a field with woods bordering it, so as children we spent a lotta time playing in those woods, especially in the summer. We had a spattering of wild blueberries, even wild strawberries and raspberries, and we had wild flowers: roses, tiger lilies, crocuses and all sorts of other native plants that I didn’t know the name of. When I got older and a little more interested in native plants, I could identify yarrow, kinnikinnick, labrador tea, hyssop and a few others in ‘my’ woods where I would often waunder looking for plants I could call by name. But I have some big regrets related to those tiger lilies and crocuses. When I was a child I’d go out looking for flowers to pick for the purpose of putting in a cup of water on our table. I fear I was part of their near elimination in those wild areas near our home. I still love flowers, but I grow the ones I put on my table these days, rather than forage for them. I wish I knew then what I know now – enjoy them, but leave them where they are.
The wild crocus is not the most beautiful flower, nothing ostentatious or pretentious about her. She’s happy simply being herself, doing what she was designed to do – which apparently was not to “impress” us with her flamboyance. But her very appearance told me that “spring was finally here”, that “hope” had returned. She encouraged me not to be fooled by a cold snap or a spring snow storm – if the crocuses were out, I could know that winter was over. I could count on it. To this day – I am buffered against those empty threats by my memory of the brave little crocuses that would poke their pretty heads out of a fresh snow. They give me the confidence to say “Give it all you got Winter! You don’t scare me! We both know your days are numbered.”
Crocuses don’t make big announcements – you can look closely in all the same areas you saw them last year for some sign that they’re there, and then suddenly, before your very eyes, THREE OF THEM! Like girlfriends – always hanging out in clusters. One day there is nothing, and seemingly over night they’re in full bloom! Humble and yet stalwart. Warm and friendly, yet tough as a Canadian winter. Crocuses in snow and cold are resilient, they are the poster child for “persistence”; the foliage is cold-durable and can persist under a thick blanket of spring snow. Even if some dumb little kid picks they’re brand new blossoms – don’t despair, they’ll come back next spring. They’re forgiving that way, and – persistent. I’m sure there’s a life lesson for me in there somewhere.
They’ve become quite the symbol for me: persistent, trust-worthy, patient, long suffering. They’re not quitters. Extreme cold can damage crocus blossoms that are already open but will not affect the bulb or future flowers. Another life lesson: “Your past doesn’t determine your future.” When dahlias cry and give up, crocuses come back next year – bringing friends with them.
The crocuses we grow in our gardens now are not the native prairie crocuses I grew up with. The ones we buy are imported and from the iris family, they can be planted in full sun or partial shade. I don’t wish to sound disparaging about them; just because they aren’t purists doesn’t mean they don’t have value. They are still the same cheerful, encouraging sports, and are still among the earliest small, spring flowers – with the same cheery message about spring. They like to hang out in clusters, and you can still count on them. They’re brighter than their country cousins, wearing the vibrant Easter-egg colours of purple, lavender, yellow, cream and white, attracting and providing an important food source for the earliest bees of spring, who are drawn to their rich, golden pollen. Often their cheery blossoms will be open while there’s still snow on the ground, and in time their bulbs1 will multiply to produce more flowers. Because they bloom and die back before most trees and shrubs have even leafed out, areas that might be shaded later in the season, are still hospitable. 2
They are winter hardy in zones 3-8, and bloom best after a cold winter (generally that means 10 weeks of freezing), which makes them perfectly suited to the area I live in. 3 They’re forgiving, but they need well drained soil (they don’t like to be soggy). Plant a few handfuls of bulbs pointy end up, about three to four inches deep (yes I know, that’s DEEP) in the fall before freeze up. Tuck them into your flower beds, around rocks or along a walkway, keeping them to the front where they’ll be seen better because they’re short. They’re very social, and will be happier planted in clumps (just like you’d find them in the wild), filling your garden with flowers when you need them most before anybody else is awake. But don’t worry, after blooming they’ll fade away and make room for late spring flowers – the perfect room mates: respectful of your space, and charitable.
Persistence is essential to happiness; I’m convinced of it. And happiness is not situational, not dependent on sunshine and roses. Crocuses live by the motto “if you can’t change your circumstances, . . . change your outlook“. 4 They always see the sun notwithstanding the snow that surrounds them today. They don’t just survive in the snow – they thrive in the snow. And they thrive when the snow goes too. They’re okay either way. Another life lesson from crocuses.
Know what got me thinking about crocuses this week? I came across a quote in a book I was reading and it jumped out at me. It spoke to my heart, about persistence. Nothing fancy and spectacular – just good old fashioned, hardy “persistence”. Profoundly simple. “Press on” it said. Just what I needed to hear. I had a visual flashback to a small cluster of crocuses, on the edge of a field, surrounded by snow. I couldn’t have been older than 10 or 11 years, but I was struck by how out of place they were. Nothing else had woken up; even the nearby trees hadn’t budded out yet, but here they were! At first I thought they’d made a mistake; the recent spring snow must have surprised them. My older friend told me they were called ‘crocuses’, and that they grew very early in the spring, sometimes even with snow still on the ground. I felt some sort of kinship with them immediately.
“Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common that unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan PRESS ON has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.” – Calvin Coolidge
Crocuses inspire me. They don’t demand instant success. They appreciate the time, effort and sacrifice that go into success and they’re willing to go the distance, but they focus on what they do best – their job – trusting in the process. You could say they’re ACTION oriented – not focused on hoped-for results that are beyond anyone’s ability to control – no matter how well we do our job. Crocuses get that. They simply focus on the job at hand, going about making the world a better place, blooming where they are. The truth is, sometimes things happen: the winter is weird or some dumb kid picks their first-day flowers – but they Press On, continuing to do the right thing – being them, making sure they’re where they’re supposed to be when we most need to see them. They’re kind of a super hero that way; a quiet, unassuming – super hero, too shy to take the lime light, just doing what they’re wired to do. Ironically, most of their job is beneath the surface not readily apparent to the rest of us, getting things ready for their chance to say “Good Morning!“.
I would like to be like the prairie crocus. In the snow – brightening up someone’s day, reassuring them that no matter what else is going on – winter has fulfilled its job, and for all intents and purposes – is over! Spring is up ahead, just around the corner
Thank you to the sweet, humble prairie crocus for this other, important life lesson.
Warmly,
Cindy Suelzle
footnotes:
- their ‘bulbs are actually called “corms” ↩︎
- Prairie Crocuses have thick, woody taproots which make them difficult to transplant from the wild (so don’t risk killing one to try it), however, they’re fairly easy to grow from seed. If you want to grow a native prairie crocus, gather some seed and do it the more sure way. You can also contact your local chapter of ALBERTA NATIVE PLANTS SOCIETY, they probably have seeds to sell. Or just buy the non-native seedlings from your local greenhouse. ↩︎
- if you don’t know what ZONE you’re in, click this link. To provide some context, Edmonton is in its own little zone – considered 3b-4a. ↩︎
- Michelle McCullough – MAKE IT HAPPEN BLUEPRINT, pg 73 ↩︎
Find your growing zone.
Edmonton and the surrounding areas are in a unique micro-climate that puts them in a zone (4a) almost to themselves.
