Parcels in the post
I came home from walking hellhounds yesterday* and found this propped against the outside of the greenhouse:
Yeeeeep.
Oh, right. More roses. Of course. More trouble I got into with the Peter Beales sale: it included standard roses, which is where you have a long bare stem with the rose part bursting out at the top. Ordinary rose standards don’t do a lot for me but weeping standards, when you have long trailing–weeping–stems, like a weeping willow only covered with roses, I think are glorious.** So I decided to buy a pair of them for Third House’s new front door.***
And the ectoplasm on the back wall is the Magnolia Saver. I haven’t checked to see if it’s working. 
The other things that came in the post–the small, discreet, thornless things–are my snowdrops. You know that snowdrops transplant better ‘in the green’ as they say? Most bulbs–like tulips and daffs–arrive dormant†. Snowdrops come with leaves and, in this case, flowers. Are these absolutely too cute or what? 
I have belatedly decided that snowdrops are adorable. 
I don’t know why I hadn’t figured this out previously, usually I’m all over things that flower at odd times of year. I think the cottage’s previous tenant took her snowdrops with her–she was a Proper Gardener so she probably had Proper Snowdrops–but it took me a couple of years to realise that this garden doesn’t have any snowdrops, and to miss them. There’s not much else that flowers while they flower††. Have I told you the snorkworthy tale of how my grand neighbour gave me some snowdrops? They were very nice, but it was more like right, got that box ticked, than oooh, snowdrops. But this year something that soldiers on not only surviving but thriving and flowering while you’re out there every night wrapping up ungrateful geraniums††† does tend to make the heart grow fonder. So when one of my spring bulb catalogues arrived with a Snowdrop Supplement I went all goofy and ordered two–two doubles. These are Lady Stanley and the yellow one is Lady Elphinstone. How d’ye do, miladies?
* * *
* I remind myself I used to live somewhere you had to break the ice on the horses’ water buckets every frelling morning for much of the winter, and the friend whose mare nickered while her blanket/rug was put on^ still does. Yes, I reply to myself, and I moved.
^ See previous entry. No, of course I don’t remember which previous entry.
** I can’t find a good photo of a weeping standard to link to, so you’ll have to use your imagination. I’ll take photos this summer. These two are New Dawn^ which is pale pink with a lot of petals.
^ Well. That’s what the label says they are. Labels have been known to lie.
*** Did I tell you that my builder has taken his wife to Thailand for a fortnight for her fortieth birthday? Nice work if you can get it. Meanwhile all his lads have apparently declared, Yay! The boss is out of the country! and gone bowling.
† And then sprout surreptitiously in their box in the shed/under the table/in the garage/under the bed^ where they somehow or other get left longer than they should.
^ Under the bed is fatal. Whole universes rise and fall under the bed while you’re ringing bells and writing low literature and carrying heavy dripping things in and out of the house because there’s going to be another frost and not thinking about what’s under the bed. Actually I did get all my bulbs planted this year. Eventually.
†† And I think I’ve lost my clematis cirrhosa, sigh. http://www.rhs.org.uk/WhatsOn/gardens/hydehall/archive/hydehallpom05jan.asp
††† I’m pretty sure I’ve lost both the ones that have been outdoors the whole winter. Sigh.
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