My mother and snowdrops are inextricably joined in my heart and mind because one of my earliest childhood memories is the arrival of February in our snowy part of the country and my mother digging in the snow–oftentimes with her bare hands–looking for snowdrops.
“Spring,” she’d tell me. “I’m looking for Spring.”
This crazy-winter-weather year confused the snowdrops in my yard into appearing in November. Of course, I was glad to see them, but they were out-of-sync with my memories. So, today–in February–I was thrilled to see them back again.