Snowflake

Leucojum aestivum

Of all the spring flowers this is my favourite. It has been since I was a small child of 5 or 6 visiting my grandfather. He was living in a rundown farmhouse that had an old garden. Everywhere there were big clumps of snowflakes, around the house, in the orchard and out in the fields.

That spring he called for me on his bike. He unpacked the bag my mother had ready and took out several items, including my hated apron and even my nightie. He said he had enough to carry without all that.

I rode on the bar of his bike and Grandfather carried his supplies in a sugarbag swag on his back. It was at least five miles to his place and it was uphill most of the way.

The house was deliciously spooky. The rooms were mostly dim and empty. The old scrim-mounted wallpapers ballooned and sighed when the wind blew. In the evening while I waited for the meal to cook I thrilled at the sight of Grandfather's grotesque shadow dancing on the ceiling as he stirred the pot over the open fire.

Grandfather gave me his white silk shirt to wear as a nightie. It trailed on the floor behind me as I walked. I felt like a princess.

Ever since then that combination of green and white is one that I have loved.