Until about a year ago, I had no idea that there were so many different types of galanthus, or that there is a mini subculture of galanthophiles* who are REALLY hardcore into collecting and identifying the subtle variations and markings in these teeny flowering bulbs. Not that I blame them — once you’re made aware of the variations, it’s difficult to not be drawn in.
I was browsing garden magazines at a friend’s the other day and I believe it is the current issue of Gardens Illustrated that has an article on galanthus with a gorgeous photo of several individual petals lined up on a piece of wood. That photo alone is enough to turn me into a galanthonerd.
On a related note: the other day, while taking this photo, I asked my friend Barry if snowdrops have a scent. At the time I noted how difficult it is to get down that low onto the ground to take a whiff. It did not occur to me that I could pick a bloom and bring it up to my nose. Dur.
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* I thought I was making up a new jazzy word, and imagined myself an absolute genius for a quick second, too until I did a search and discovered the term is in widespread use. And since the mid-nineteenth century no less. Am starting to wonder if the galanthogeeks would have me as one of their own regardless of my sincerity and commitment.
Gayla, if you find a source of snowdrops (unusual ones) in Canada, please let me know. I have been looking for a bit, and they seem to be quite hard to come by.
The only place I’ve heard of is in Upstate New York. Kathy (Cold Climate Gardening) told me about him. Here’s a link to an article about the owner of Temple Nurseries. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/16/garden/16garden.html?_r=1. He does mailorder, but he’s not online.
I have had wretched luck with them in my silty soil. You photo has me rethinking my strategies in order to try again.
Christine in Alaska