Gardeners beat to a different rhythm, so whilst most of the population were firmly focused on Christmas Day, turkey and Christmas pud, I was waiting for the shortest day on December 21st. Once that was over, the days would lengthen once again and the garden would revive like Sleeping Beauty freshly kissed by her Prince. I am ashamed to say that I was wishing my time away in November and December – just waiting for the all-important Winter Solstice to arrive. I think this may be an atavistic reaction caused by something hidden in my ancient ancestry. I’m just hoping that I was a peaceful Bronze Age farmer, living in a round hut, rather than a Druid sacrificing God knows what on a stone altar.
Well, the shortest day has been and gone. Hip Hip Hooray! Just like most women, I’m already on to the next auspicious day which is January 19th. This is the day when our part of the northern hemisphere tilts towards the sun just enough to allow the earth to warm up once again. This year the first half of January has delivered cold weather and a Wolf Moon, an American term describing the time of year when wolves howl prior to mating. I haven’t heard any in Cold Aston as yet, but there have been planetary alignments involving Saturn, Venus, Mars and Jupiter. They’ll be in a straight line on January 25th. That’s another date I’ve pencilled in.
If I’m honest I’m more interested in what’s happening on the ground, rather than the sky, because I’m watching the Race of the Year unfold before my very eyes. This a yearly battle that involves winter aconites, snowdrops, crocuses and cyclamen. They’re all vying to be the first to flower and every year is different, for they all respond to different triggers. Snowdrops are encouraged out of the ground by warmer temperatures even when the weather is dull. Many of mine were showing tips of white well before Christmas and, if the warm dull weather had continued, they would have flowered by late-January. Once freezing temperatures set in, the hare in the race was stopped in its tracks and I could almost hear snowdrop garden owners sighing with relief. I want my snowdrops to appear in February and so do they.
The other three contenders, winter aconites, crocus and cyclamen, do not enjoy dull conditions. They respond to bright light and, if it stays cold and sunny, they’ll put on a sprint finish. In the lead at the moment is the spring-flowering Cyclamen coum. This is a good time to seek them out in garden centres. Look for interesting foliage because the rounded small leaves vary from dull-green through to silver and pewter and this foliage is a winter feature long before the flowers appear. Flower colour varies, between blush-white through to reddish pink, but there’s always a dark-magenta nose.
The walnut-sized tubers of C. coum should not be planted close to the large dinner-plate tubers of autumn-flowering crocus C. hederifolium, or they’ll get swamped. Anna Pavord, writing in her excellent book Bulb, describes the situation as ‘like setting a heavyweight boxer against a bantam weight.’ Quite! I have been trying to line my front path with these snub-nosed jaunty beauties for at least ten years. I have never noticed a pollinator on my cyclamen flowers, perhaps because I rush up the path on my way to the front door.
Thrips and hoverflies are known to spread the pollen, but the swept-back petals make it easy for pollinators to collect pollen and drink nectar. Some of the earliest flying bees are tiny, almost ant sized creatures. Whatever pollinates them I can’t say. However, they always set seeds and these are held in purse-like sacs. The seeds have a sticky coating so ants roll them about, but only a short distance. Once the sweet coating has gone, they abandon the seeds. Consequently, my baby cyclamen seedlings pop up in odd places. It’s not so much a line, more of a meandering path.
Towards the end of January crocuses begin to appear and their rounded flower structure traps the air inside the flower and warms it up. That’s quite important, because nectar flow is encouraged by warmth. The temperature inside the crocus flower is considerably higher and the cup-shaped petals protect the pollen and nectar by opening when temperatures rise and closing as temperatures drop. Many flowers open and close to protect the pollen and nectar.
Bumblebees and honeybees forage on crocus flowers and they can’t miss the pollen-laden orange style as they access the nectar. Bees of all types emerge dusted in orange powder as though they’d been involved in the Indian festival of Holi, when paint is thrown under a full moon.
They are an important source of sustenance early in the year, although voles tend to think of them in the same way!
The crown for the earliest flowering crocus is vigorously contested. Sieber’s crocus, Crocus sieberi subsp. sublimis ‘Tricolor’ is three-way mix of purple, white and yellow, so just remember the name Tricolor. In the wild it pushes through the snow on Mount Chelmos in Greece and it will happily do the same in The Cotswolds. It’s often the first crocus to flower here and it’s widely available and inexpensive. If it’s sunny day after day, as it sometimes is in winter, the small flowers of C. chrysanthus may be first. These dainty crocuses, with small corms, have flowers resembling narrow champagne flutes. ‘Cream Beauty’ often flowers under a rosemary bush here and rosemary will flower at the same time when given a hot spot in full sun, so it’s a pleasant combination. Others have significant flaming on the outer petals, designed to flag up their presence to pollinators. ‘Ladykiller’ is a purple-flamed white. ‘Gyspy Girl’, which I find easier than the similar ‘E.A. Bowles’, has warm-yellow flowers feathered in purple.
I also grow Crocus tommasinianus, the thuggish crocus that pops up in grass and borders, and that will also flower in February. This slender-stemmed crocus self-seeds, so it’s not appreciated by those ‘must-be-tidy’ gardeners. The flowers get trashed by heavy rain, so I’m hoping for a drier spring after the disappointment of the last two years. Then it will ramp through winter aconites underneath my pear tree. It is creeping into the grass, although the wet summers we’ve had are producing a sward that’s a little too impenetrable.
By March there are larger-flowered crocuses on offer, usually called Dutch crocuses, and they are related to Crocus vernus, a species of alpine meadows. They will never win the race of the year, but their large flowers are great bee pleasers and ‘Vanguard’, a silver and mauve, flowers first. My all-time favourite is ‘Yalta’, because the feathery orange style is just like a feather duster.
But let’s get back to the Race of the Year. The next contender is the winter aconite or Eranthis hyemalis. This is my favourite early spring flower, because the yellow globes hug the soil in cold weather and the ferny foliage clasps the flowers like one of those hair dos on bald men. I think it’s called a comb over. Once the temperature rises the leaves unfurl, like the roof on the centre court at Wimbledon. However, that lovely globe of yellow will sit tight until the temperature reaches 10C. Only then will the flowers open, for then it will be warm enough for bees to be on the wing.
This behaviour ensures successful pollination and this is vital for the winter aconite because it spreads by self-seeding. It needs to get a pollinator to dust it with pollen from another flower. Bees are not deliberately pollinating a flower as many believe. They are either drinking nectar for energy, or collecting pollen to feed their brood. Cross, or out, pollination is a happy bi-product of their visit.
When buying make sure to get Eranthis hyemalis, rather than the Cilicius form. The latter has finely cut purplish foliage and it flowers four weeks later and it’s tricky to grow.