When I was a little girl my grandparents lived in this farmhouse deep in the Lincolnshire Wolds. It looks very gracious, doesn't it, but looks can deceive! I wrote about it several years ago starting with this post.
To the left of the view seen here there was a large copper beech tree, and under the tree there grew a rich profusion of snowdrops. As a little girl I would pick bunch after bunch and you could not see from where I had plucked them.
My Mother dug up a few each year and took them back to the garden at home. They spread wonderfully and when my parents left that house she again dug some up to plant in the new garden. Later she moved again and repeated the ritual. When I went to live at my Vicarage we again dug up a few of the snowdrops and planted them there. You won't be surprised that when I left the Vicarage I brought some for my garden here. In each place many were left but the transplanted ones spread in whatever garden they were taken to. By my reckoning my Mother and I have been responsible for the snowdrop population in at least five gardens and in reality it has been far more than that.
My present house is a modern(ish) bungalow about five miles from the lovely house in that photograph so my snowdrops have almost gone to their original home. They flourish in my garden, hiding underground when summer comes but making their welcome appearance each January/February.
And today I fetched this little posy into the house. Truly a joyful heritage.