Yes! I am the "King of De Nile": after two nights of dodging the frost bullet, the Weather Service is predicting anything from 23F to 25F tonight. I have lugged all the tender plants I care most about indoors--a real mess--and am wistfully looking at the dozens of pots full of still cheerfully blooming Pentas, Plumbago, Callibrachoa, Gomphrena, Petunia, Nicotiana, Angelonia, Euryops--and more--that shall succumb to the Grim Scythe of Hard Frost. Rather than dwell on the demise of all my tropicalia, I have decided to declare premature spring: since Autumn Crocus has been comandeered by Colchicum, I propose we call these "Premature Spring Crocuses" and just declare spring once and for all.
Once again the wonderful throng of Crocus pulchellus I planted decades ago in front of the Alpine House in the Rock Alpine Garden which have proliferated, are doing their thang. I must find a spot where I can get these to repeat the show at my home garden: their pale lavender goblets cheer me up each time I walk by them. Cheers!
I have been mildly taunted by friends for my love of white (and pale) flowers. Taunt away! You have obviously not spent the dusks and twilights I have, padding about my garden, yearning for the lingering light to stay, for night to delay so I can drink in a few more minutes in the magic of my fellow beings, these adorable little plants I love so much. And the pale ones, the white ones respond with seeming to almost glow: I know this all sounds terribly maudlin and corny for you cruel cynics, but true plant lovers will understand. Vita Sackville-West understood only too well. I have yet to go to Sissinghurst, but when I do, I shall make a beeline for the White Garden (a splendid idea in my book).