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Snowdrops have a delicate, quiet beauty. Their white bell-shaped petals are striking alone and in a swath, and they are a harbinger of spring. The Plant Lover's Guide to Snowdrops is the first book to make this group of bulbs accessible to the home gardener. It features profiles of 60 hybrids, species, and cultivars, with information on flowering time, distinguishing features, and ease of cultivation. It addition, it shows how to design with snowdrops, and how to grow and propagate them, also offering tips on where to see snowdrops in public gardens and where to buy them. Each Plant Lover's Guide in the series is supported by lush, photo-driven design, featuring the most beloved plants and valued expertise of the gardening world in a visual, comprehensive resource. In the tradition of creating a valuable library of beautiful, plant-driven books, Timber Press's series of Plant Lover's Guides are packed with trusted information alongside lush, full-color photography. This guide is perfect for beginning and expert home gardeners who want to celebrate the beauty of snowdrops.
Naomi Slade is a horticultural journalist, avid gardener, and trained biologist. She has been honored in the namesake of the Galanthus reginae-olgae 'Naomi Slade,' bred by renowned plantsman, Joe Sharman. She blogs at naomislade-electricgreen.blogspot.com. Introduction: Why I Love Snowdrops
I have always had a soft spot for snowdrops. I spent much of my childhood in west Wales, where winters are unfailingly cold and damp, and by the beginning of the new year the landscape is a palette of soft taupe punctuated by flashes of defiant green from the moss and ivy and grey from lichen. The grass stems are bleached to fawn and bare hedgerows are rendered brown. In February, precious little is in flower, but each year, on Valentine's Day, I would gather a little posy of snowdrops to give to my mother.
It was a mystery to me why these ones, planted by my grandmother at the end of the garden, flowered before the massed snowdrops in the orchard, but there I knew they would always be, pearly heads pushing through the blanket of soggy grass-brave, sturdy, and reliable.
Slipping into the chilly dawn in wellies and pyjamas in search of an innocent gift, I had no inkling of the passion that this little flower can inspire. But many years and many botanical love affairs later, I paid a February visit to Deborah Puxley, who owns Welford Park in Berkshire, an estate famous for its acres of snowdrops. I walked at sunrise in the quiet woods, empty but for a million snowdrops spreading out as far as the eye could see, and then drank coffee as visitors rolled in and Debby enthused about the festal open-day atmosphere.
The following October I found myself interviewing esteemed botanist John Grimshaw, who was, at the time, "Mr Snowdrop" at Colesbourne Park, where some 250 cultivars are planted. He is a true snowdrop fanatic: even his teacups are decorated with named varieties. In the indoor gloom, he painted glorious, vivid pictures of creatures that I had yet to meet. He gave me a history lesson, debated conservation and botany with passion and intensity, and threw a little controversy into the mix for good measure. We then went outside to look at Galanthus reginae-olgae, which was just coming into flower, and which in autumn was so wrong. And so right. And so amazing. All at once.
I was hooked.
Visiting snowdrop gardens has recently become an essential part of the British calendar. Europe is not far behind and interest is building in North America, too. As the first high-impact flowers of spring, snowdrops have an enormous pull for a public eager for a spectacle and keen to get outdoors after the dark days of winter. By the end of January, in England, the general populace is suffering from cabin fever, and even those who are not serious gardeners can be found enjoying a rare day out. In their le
Naomi Slade is a horticultural journalist, avid gardener, and trained biologist. She has been honored in the namesake of the Galanthus reginae-olgae 'Naomi Slade,' bred by renowned plantsman, Joe Sharman. She blogs at naomislade-electricgreen.blogspot.com. Introduction: Why I Love Snowdrops
I have always had a soft spot for snowdrops. I spent much of my childhood in west Wales, where winters are unfailingly cold and damp, and by the beginning of the new year the landscape is a palette of soft taupe punctuated by flashes of defiant green from the moss and ivy and grey from lichen. The grass stems are bleached to fawn and bare hedgerows are rendered brown. In February, precious little is in flower, but each year, on Valentine's Day, I would gather a little posy of snowdrops to give to my mother.
It was a mystery to me why these ones, planted by my grandmother at the end of the garden, flowered before the massed snowdrops in the orchard, but there I knew they would always be, pearly heads pushing through the blanket of soggy grass-brave, sturdy, and reliable.
Slipping into the chilly dawn in wellies and pyjamas in search of an innocent gift, I had no inkling of the passion that this little flower can inspire. But many years and many botanical love affairs later, I paid a February visit to Deborah Puxley, who owns Welford Park in Berkshire, an estate famous for its acres of snowdrops. I walked at sunrise in the quiet woods, empty but for a million snowdrops spreading out as far as the eye could see, and then drank coffee as visitors rolled in and Debby enthused about the festal open-day atmosphere.
The following October I found myself interviewing esteemed botanist John Grimshaw, who was, at the time, "Mr Snowdrop" at Colesbourne Park, where some 250 cultivars are planted. He is a true snowdrop fanatic: even his teacups are decorated with named varieties. In the indoor gloom, he painted glorious, vivid pictures of creatures that I had yet to meet. He gave me a history lesson, debated conservation and botany with passion and intensity, and threw a little controversy into the mix for good measure. We then went outside to look at Galanthus reginae-olgae, which was just coming into flower, and which in autumn was so wrong. And so right. And so amazing. All at once.
I was hooked.
Visiting snowdrop gardens has recently become an essential part of the British calendar. Europe is not far behind and interest is building in North America, too. As the first high-impact flowers of spring, snowdrops have an enormous pull for a public eager for a spectacle and keen to get outdoors after the dark days of winter. By the end of January, in England, the general populace is suffering from cabin fever, and even those who are not serious gardeners can be found enjoying a rare day out. In their le
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