False Spring

The potted, forced-by-refrigeration-to-believe-it-springtime crocus blooms on my desk are dying. One just opened this morning and another has just almost unfurled this afternoon, but the rest are withered purple sheets of decay after a few days of resplendent life.

Saffron is made from the stigmata of the purple crocus -- apparently 160,000 flowers are needed to produce a kilo of the dried stuff. Explains the expense and the exotic nature. Stamen are also used, but only in cheaper versions -- the stamen lacks the colour and scent.

Isn't it wonderful that the female organs of a flower are called stigmata -- one can only imagine some early plant scientist staining his hands with pollen...

My 15 or 20 crocus blossoms will be snipped off and tossed in the trash. Perhaps I should dry them and give their fragrance to my rice. I don't think the crocuses on my desk are the same as those grown to produce saffron, but are crocus nonetheless --a shared heritage.

Maybe I should climb into my refrigerator, sit there in the dark for a few days -- to emerge believing spring's arrival upon me. I might blossom then, even so briefly as the crocus.