Snowdrops: the Late-Winter Bulb With a Following Called Galanthophiles
Easy to grow and so collectible!
One of the first signs that green and flowering life will actually return to the temperate areas of the world after the depths of winter is the emergence of clumps of the cheerful little snowdrop (Galanthus).
When I return home to Rhode Island from a Florida winter stay, I am greeted by large, luminous patches on my lawn of what truly looks like remnants of receding drifts of snow. While I’m away, neighbors who walk by my house keep me informed of their progress, often sending me pictures of the first dabs of white that have peeked out even in the middle of a cold February.
It is generally known by my acquaintances that they may have as many snowdrop bulbs—about the size of string bean seeds—as they need. Over the decades I have taken pleasure in seeing spreads of snowdrops that originated from my yard in many other locations around town.
My own first snowdrops were a gift given to me by a young teacher of biology at the school where we both taught. As I recall, that first batch of flowers came crammed into a paper cup. I separated the bulbs, planted them with a bit of bone meal and let nature take its course. Before long I had a decent display of these harbingers of spring!
That teacher, young Thom Collins, moved to the wilds of Vermont, but the snowdrops continued to link us together. I sent him photos from time to time showing how his thoughtful green-and-white handful of cheer had progressed. In 2024, Thom unexpectedly informed me that he had married a galanthophile—the proper name for anyone who truly loves the at least 20 or so species of the genus Galanthus.
Thom’s husband, David Pride, admits to having 30 varieties of snowdrops, but he keeps some things close to his chest. Thom only inadvertently discovered that David may have paid $110 for one (yes, 1, uno) bulb. This fact intrigued me, and a little quick research and questioning revealed that something like the 17th-century Tulip Mania has been percolating under my unaware nose for a while. So it happened that I felt compelled to see what all the fuss was about and delve deeper into Galanthus nivalis, the most widespread variety of the genus.
My Snowdrop Education
I must say, though, that even before looking into what I now know are actually different species and cultivars of snowdrops, I had a feeling that there was more to these plants. My untrained eyes had occasionally noted more robust or slightly different-shaped snowdrops than my own, like in a woodland colony that I once viewed in the Massachusetts town of Sandwich, on Cape Cod. However, I had attributed these subtle differences to greater nutrient availability or climatic effects.
Being ignorant of the greater Galanthus story, I was content to see my colony expand. One bulb became two, which became five, which became eleven, which became…eight? The progression almost always shows a net increase, but it may be an erratic one. Sometimes a bulb may split into three instead of two, or the bulbs may decrease overall because of an animal testing them as a new food source. (They are somewhat protected by nasty-tasting alkaloids.)
Galanthus nivalis does produce seed pods and tiny seeds that aid our little friend in extensive colonization of new areas. The seed-produced additions to a collection may take up to seven years to flower. But if you tend to be a more patient and particular observer than I am (or have been), those seeded additions to your garden may give rise to an interesting variation, such as a different coloration or scent.
To accelerate propagation from bulbs—especially those that have given rise to desirable characteristics—there is a technique referred to as twin scaling, whereby you take a healthy bulb and segment it with a scalpel or razor blade, being sure that each segment has a piece of the basal plate from which emerge the bulb’s roots. Each planted segment will become a genetically identical specimen original sacrificial bulb.
Growing Snowdrops
Galanthus species are native to much of Europe and western Asia, but the original range has been blurred because this adaptive plant has been naturalized for centuries, if not millennia. Generally speaking, snowdrops prefer light woodland settings in undisturbed ground with a layer of nourishing and protective humus. That’s how they naturally grow in the Caucasus, Turkey and other areas in which they were originally found. They are not particularly fussy about soil pH.
Though I have always enjoyed the offspring of Thom’s gift showing themselves off in my lawn, I will tell you that their existence in such a situation is tenuous. I have to gently remind, or sometimes threaten, outside lawn-care service providers who do their work when I am away or otherwise indisposed to “mind the snowdrops.” If I do not, my white gems will be dosed and killed with broadleaf herbicide or mowed down to nubs before their leaves turn pale yellow. Like all bulbous plants, snowdrops utilize sunlight to produce and store the nutrients needed for next season’s display, so their leaves must be left to do their job properly!
If you have a setting that can be naturalized with Galanthus nivalis, perhaps interplanted with tulips, hyacinths, daffodils and the like, it could be a fun project to undertake, one that brings joy to you and others well into the future.
But because of the compact habit of snowdrops, you really could have an impressive collection of many varieties in just a ten-by-ten-foot raised bed. If you go this route, I suggest planting each variety within plastic baskets, such as those used in aquatic gardens. This will prevent the varieties from getting mixed up and discourage foragers from sampling them. Label each basket above and below ground. I bury backup label tags because I have found that surface ones sometimes get too faded to read, or they just disappear.
Galanthophiles Abroad and at Home
The British seem to have a special affinity for snowdrops, to the point where many gardeners assume it is a native plant there, which it is not. Germans are also dedicated collectors. Spring displays at England’s Forde Abbey (Somerset) and Rodmarton Manor (Gloucestershire) and at Oirlicher Blumengarten in Nettetal, Germany, are very well attended.
Gunter Waldorf, a Galanthus collector extraordinaire, inspired the establishment of Snowdrop Days celebrations (akin to our Daffodil Days) in his native Germany and especially in the British Isles. When his passing was widely reported in 2012, the plantsman who had introduced and promoted so many Galanthus varieties was mourned in places like Glasgow, Scotland, as if he were a native son. If you are visiting the British Isles in springtime, do a computer search for “Snowdrop Days UK” and you will be surprised at the level of interest in what may become your new favorite gardening possession, too.
Prized as they have become in Europe, there are thefts reported there of these plants, as well as black market sales! In the US, there are now many domestic sources of Galanthus, including individual sellers, nurseries, online catalogs and even auctions. Nearly three decades ago, David Pride found his first clump of snowdrops growing in a tangled roadside patch. After removing a few bulbs, he grew and propagated them to a point where he was eventually giving them away or planting them as surprises for the unsuspecting. I only just found out that Thom’s gift to me was because of David’s early husbandry of these gems!
In Vermont, David acquired a snowdrop mentor who taught him that there are actually hundreds of cultivars of snowdrops. His “go-to” resource for snowdrops soon became Carolyn’s Shade Gardens, in Bryn Mawr, Pa., which stocks and ships an impressive range. (David once mentioned to Carolyn that he had developed an “addiction” to acquiring snowdrops; she preferred that he refer to it as a “passion.”)
Each year he puts together a shopping list of bulbs in which he is interested. He is only occasionally able to purchase all of them, because of the growing interest in and competition for snowdrops. I got him to reveal that his next quest is for a quite yellow, double-petaled form called ‘Lady Elphinstone’. I hope he is successful!
Although I know that at least one person may disagree, David got off easy paying $110 for his prized bulb. I discovered that G. plicatus ‘Golden Tears’ sold at auction for £1850 (more than $2,000) at Monksilver Nursery in Cambridge, England, not that along ago.
Snowdrops in lawn photo by Ichwarsnur/Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0; 'Wendy's Gold' snowdrop by Peter Coxhead/Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0
