Scent of Snowdrops

   I picked some snowdrops in full bud, and within an hour they had opened their propellers to release a honey scent – and though I’ve seen thousands in woods and gardens, I never realised snowdrops were fragrant.

Snowdrops – I love them en masse in the woods, but also I love them  in the garden where I can pick and examine them like a jeweller, comparing the detail, gloating over differences.  Some are double like ballerinas in their green lined tutus, some – viridipice – are tipped green at the outer petal tips.  All have little green bridges over the notches of the inner petals (you can see it in the picture), but one has a broad green band above, and wide grey leaves.  This came from my mother, who was given it by someone who called it a mule’s ear snowdrop, but I have found nothing on Google or on the disheartenly long list of varieties set up by galanthophiles who I despise with their peeking and peering under skirts, obsessing over minute differences..

They like the shade.  Previously, I had a snowdrop runner along the north side of a hedge.  One I crave is Wendy’s Gold, though they say it’s not easy, and another is Grumpy, with a sour little green face on the inner petals.

And then, I went into the garden today – 27th February – and there in a clump beside the path I found a clump of snowdrops each with a yellow green flare above the green bridges.  I was thrilled!  Different!  What is it?  I’ve become a galanthophile.