Snowdrops - with apologies to more knowledgable galanthophiles

A spectacular winter white carpet of Snowdrops naturalised near Darfield, Canterbury, from a few bulbs brought to this country by early settlers during the 19th century.

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There are many exotic places and gardens waiting in the wings to be written about, but all the excitement is right here in winter, where I can't get Snowdrops out of my mind.  This was in July when most of the varieties were in flower. 
​It is now a month later in August, and the Snowdrops are fading fast, as we slip out of winter and into spring.
Even though the modest snowdrop display in my garden is minimal compared to other places, I peer at my few little groups in wonder every day.  They made me feel happy as they pushed up bravely through near frozen ground in July,  letting us know that spring might not be far away.  In the dead of winter soon after the shortest day their green shoots appeared through the crackling brown dead leaves of last summer like a million phoenix rising from the ashes with little white drops of flowers unfolding from within soon covering the ground - new life rising up from the old.

The botanical name for Snowdrop is Galanthus. There are as many different varieties and cultivars, within the genus as there are among Snowdrop enthusiasts who call themselves Galanthophiles.

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If you were lucky enough to have had a great great granny who had the foresight to pop a few Snowdrop bulbs into her luggage when she came in a sailing ship over rough seas from the other side of the world, then you too may now have white carpets of Snowdrops naturalised under trees on your property, as seen here on a remote property miles from Darfield in Canterbury.  It was obvious there had been a great great granny at work here.
Or you may be like many other slogging   Galanthophiles who have been working at it for years, digging up and dividing clumps of ''snowdrops ín the green'' and spreading them around the garden.

​A month ago towards the end of July, I joined a group of Galanthophiles - becoming one myself - on a Snowdrop tour to the deep south.  These included visiting some famous southern gardens which are Snowdrop heaven, including Larnach Castle, Maple Glen and Blue Mountain Nurseries in Tapanui.  I don't know that any of the owners of these gardens have had convenient great-great-grannies.  I think these were people who had slogged over the years for the pure love of Snowdrops to understand the differences between the varieties, and to spread many of these favoured varieties throughout their own gardens.  We were lucky enough to see the fruits of their labours over many years.

Denis Hughes (pictured) at Blue Mountain Nurseries has been one of those sloggers, and has built up an impressive collection. But the most exciting Snowdrop we saw, was the one he had hybridised himself which is called Galanthus elwesii ''Emerald Hughes'', a robust variety with large and plentiful flowers appearing amongst wide lush emerald green leaves - see above.

This is the anti-climax of snowdrop displays and I'm sorry to say it is my garden!! It's meagre collection of Snowdrops I think consists mainly of Galanthus nivalis - a more usual variety which my Snowdrop friend was kind enough to give me a few years ago to get me started.

Since the Snowdrop tour if the south, I have already mended my slovenly Galanthus ways, and have split up some of the larger clumps to spread around in my mini-snowdrop field. Not only that, I have bought and planted ''in the green'' 2 other varieties. One is the superior afore mentioned G. elwesii ''Emerald Hughes", as I figured in it's robustness, it might spread about quickly, filling in my snowdropless spaces. The other variety I purchased was G. plicatus plenus, for it's sheer beauty and delicacy. It is a double Snowdrop with a green ruffled skirt hiding modestly beneath it's spreading top white petals.   Now, at the end of August the Snowdrops have almost disappeared while the foliage flourishes green and lush, making new bulbs towards a more fulsome display of Snowdrops to fill me with optimism next winter.