I awoke this morning to hear the definition of the word galanthophile coming over the radio waves!
This wonderful word conjures visions of intrepid explorers, high in the mountains seeking out different varieties of these hardy little flowers. In Victorian times they were all the rage, and it was quite de rigeur to hold 'Snowdrop Luncheons', where each guest arrived with snowdrops from their own garden to exchange with another guest. The simplicity and joy in such a simple transaction seems to be lost in today's frantic existence!
Wandering through the woods, surveying Gertrude's work, I was fascinated to find vibrant bursts of colour amongst the fractured, brittle branches. A holly bush laden with crimson berries nestling in amongst the ivy breeches of the native ash. These dapper olive leggings adding glossy depth to the slumbering tree trunks, their elegance distracting their hosts from the truth of their parasitic nature. Many majestic woodland giants are overcome by gusts from Gertrude, and her like, because the weight of the trunk, dressed in ivy, disturbs nature's perfect balance...
