THERE are two ways of looking at snowdrops. The first way to appreciate them is to wander through the countryside marvelling as great waves of snowdrops wash against the sides of valleys, flow past trees and around rocks: the big picture. Any flower in abundance, especially after we have struggled through the travails of December and January, will always lift the spirits. This is what gets the general public excited: they want to shake the tinsel from their hair, wrap up warm and be uplifted by a hope of snowdrops—there are a number of collective nouns for snowdrops, but I think ‘a hope’ is the best. It is one of the great pleasures of winter—others involve buttered crumpets and warm firesides.
The second way is to get up close and personal as every variety is different in subtle ways. This is the world of the galanthophile: a group of very happy people who spend the cold days of January and February on their knees in obeisance to the infinite ways in which the snowdrop settles its sepals. The differences are subtle: in the centre of each flower is a tracery of green lines that rearranges itself into different patterns. All beautiful, some simple, some complicated and some entertaining: there is one called Galanthus
Grumpy’, the markings of which are arranged in the shape of a disgruntled bandit. The royal family of galanthophiles is a group known as The Immortals—people who are lucky enough to have a snowdrop named after them. It has to be your full name so G. ‘Barbara’s Double’ does not count, but G. ‘John Tomlinson’ or G. ‘Naomi Slade’ tick the boxes: we live in hope.
Denne historien er fra February 07, 2024-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra February 07, 2024-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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Tales as old as time
By appointing writers-in-residence to landscape locations, the National Trust is hoping to spark in us a new engagement with our ancient surroundings, finds Richard Smyth
Do the active farmer test
Farming is a profession, not a lifestyle choice’ and, therefore, the Budget is unfair
Night Thoughts by Howard Hodgkin
Charlotte Mullins comments on Moght Thoughts
SOS: save our wild salmon
Jane Wheatley examines the dire situation facing the king of fish
Into the deep
Beneath the crystal-clear, alien world of water lie the great piscean survivors of the Ice Age. The Lake District is a fish-spotter's paradise, reports John Lewis-Stempel
It's alive!
Living, burping and bubbling fermented masses of flour, yeast and water that spawn countless loaves—Emma Hughes charts the rise and rise) of sourdough starters
There's orange gold in them thar fields
A kitchen staple that is easily taken for granted, the carrot is actually an incredibly tricky customer to cultivate that could reduce a grown man to tears, says Sarah Todd
True blues
I HAVE been planting English bluebells. They grow in their millions in the beechwoods that surround us—but not in our own garden. They are, however, a protected species. The law is clear and uncompromising: ‘It is illegal to dig up bluebells or their bulbs from the wild, or to trade or sell wild bluebell bulbs and seeds.’ I have, therefore, had to buy them from a respectable bulb-merchant.
Oh so hip
Stay the hand that itches to deadhead spent roses and you can enjoy their glittering fruits instead, writes John Hoyland
A best kept secret
Oft-forgotten Rutland, England's smallest county, is a 'Notswold' haven deserving of more attention, finds Nicola Venning
