One of the interesting aspects of moving to this house in January 2004 was seeing what appeared in the garden month by month during that first year.
It was something of a horticultural tombola, but one of the great treats was realising that we had fallen heir to many hundreds of snowdrops; some small clumps in the front garden, and some larger tracts in the side and back gardens.
I adore snowdrops, and I know I am not alone; we attribute bravery (undaunted by cold), strength (forcing through frozen ground), and optimism ('Fear not, Spring is almost here!') to these beautiful little plants, appearing as they do towards the end of winter, pushing up through frost and snow (or in our case neglected piles of leaves from last autumn).
We also have several large clumps growing in the area of the garden we euphamistically refer to as 'No Man's Land', which lies behind our garage and was I believe at one time the site of a large greenhouse. It is not grassed, and is full of bramble bushes and weeds, as well as deflated footballs, piles of old grass cuttings, and the occasional toy car or cricket bat from the boys' long abandoned childhood games. Meg (our yellow lab) loves to root about in there, regarding it as a canine treasure trove of burst tennis balls and stringless badminton racquets, but really, it's a bit of a disgrace.
In an ideal world it would be stripped, levelled, lined and paved, and serve as a patio area for outdoor meals and general summer evening lounging, but there are so many other priorities that we may never manage it.
However I feel I can and should remove these lovely snowdrops from such uninspiring surroundings. Snowdrops are best transplanted 'in the green', so I aim to rescue these innocents soon from their neglected corner, and transplant them to the front garden, where I can see them from the kitchen window, to cheer me about my tasks as Winter draws slowly toward Spring.