Snowdrop Addicts can get their fix at the Galanthus Gala

In 1997, Mona Wysocki sent me a “sod”, or a small amount of snowdrops (Galanthus Nivalis), about the size and shape of a large salad plate. It was so densely packed that I called it “sod”. A lawn would be packed with grass. I separated the bulbs carefully and replanted about six inches apart. ( Instructions here.). Twenty-three years after, they’ve formed their own turf.

The original snowdrops have grown tightly packed together.

Eight years ago, I moved into a new home and garden and planted the same snowdrops.

After growing for eight years, these snowdrops have formed clumps, but not sods. Take a tour.

I joined the Snowdrops In American Gardens group on Facebook a few years back. The group is friendly and tolerant of “off-topic posts”–especially when the snowdrops don’t flower. I’ve become familiar with several gardeners and even exchanged plants with some of them via the mail.

David Culp organized the first Galanthus Gala four years ago in Pennsylvania. I wrote a short review of his first novel here. In early March, after seeing photos of the event on Facebook for three years, including people I would love to meet and rare plants being sold, I drove the three hours to attend the Galanthus Gala.

But I did have a plan.

In order to share the magic of Mona’s snowdrops with others, I wanted them to feel how important they were to me. My son and wife live in the former family home. Two days before the gala, I asked my daughter in law if I could dig up some of the original snowdrops (a sod). I divided them up into zip-closure bags, about three dozen in total with five bulbs each. I planned to give them away as tokens of my friendship to online gardening friends and to anyone who was interested.

Here I am, dazed from the three-hour drive (I had to wake up pretty early) and about to enter the building. Photo courtesy Christopher Harley

When I hear the word “gala”, I picture a formal affair with men in tuxedos and women in floor-length gowns. The gala was crowded with gardeners dressed in casual clothes (but still clean), all trying to get their must have plants before anyone else. I thought I’d know everyone and there would be plenty of time to chat. It was a subway at rush hour packed. I could barely move. And most of the people that I knew were behind a desk frantically trying to sell plants or nowhere to be found.

This centerpiece, created by Gerald Simcoe, certainly evokes a Galanthus Gala.

Undeterred, I started handing out snowdrops. Unknown asked, “Where did that come from?” thinking I bought a basket of snowdrops. They’re from my own garden. Her eyes widen. Are you serious? “Thank you so much!” This distribution was just as spontaneous as it was random.

One or more experts always give talks at the gala. Alan Street, from Avon Bulbs Britain, gave two lectures this year in a building adjacent. The sales room was emptied out immediately after the announcement of the first lecture. What a relief it was! Although I had intended to attend both lectures I admit I did not understand what David Culp said at the tops of his voice. After the crowd had thinned, I was able to look at the tables and see what they were offering.

The sales table of Matthew and Jamie Bricker gives you an idea of the scope of the plant offerings. Photo courtesy Christopher Harley.

This is a Gala, but in general, I’ve found that people who love snowdrops deeply also love other plants deeply. The snowdrop lovers are used to paying top dollars for unique and rare snowdrops. They also don’t hesitate to open their wallets when they see other unique and rare plants, especially if the companions are compatible with snowdrops. There were plenty of snowdrops available for purchase.

These were at the upper limit of the prices I saw–but even at this price most sold quickly. Photo courtesy Matthew Ross.

After attending Alan Bloom’s lecture, his definition of galanthophile was “someone who cannot stop buying snowdrops”. By this definition I am and not galanthophile. I will not pay more for snowdrops than for colchicum corms. When I wrote down my list of snowdrops the night before the gala, I was surprised to find that I have 22 different varieties. ( You can see many of them here. Many of them were given to me by galanthophiles as gifts.

This is the only one I bought, one of the least expensive there. But that’s not why I bought it. This is supposed to multiply well, and that’s one thing I’m looking for in a snowdrop.

In truth, I was more attracted to the other plants. There are so many options! I focused on plants that would go in the Secret Garden. I brought back Trillium Flexipes (which is native to the county where I live) and Trillium Vaseyi as well as Anemonella “Cameo”. As a souvenir, I bought one of David Culp’s Brandywine Hellebores.

I purchased this hellebore in bud. I could tell it was yellow, and I was hoping it was double . . . this is still pretty special.

After the first lecture, many people wandered to the sales area, where they also sold lunch. Then, I shared my snowdrops and caught up with a lot of my Facebook friends. They all probably had this snowdrop in their gardens. Common Snowdrop is the Galanthus Nivalis after all. They accepted it, but I think the common snowdrop I gave them is a particularly vigorous form which will eventually make “sods”, in their gardens.