An Iowa Garden

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It was four below zero this morning when I tumbled out of bed... just another fine spring day in Iowa. The garden gate squeaked and shuddered with cold when I opened it, and the foot of ice and snow on the frozen ground crunched loudly under my boots as I trundled down the path, surveying a scene that could as easily be from the far north tundra as from an idyllic midwest flower garden. I have been gardening for twenty-five years in Iowa, and have never seen such a late (no, not late: nonexistent) spring. Our early snowdrops, Galanthus elwesii (el-WEZ-ee-eye) in favorable winters may bloom in early January; in more wicked years it may not bloom until mid or late February. This year I thought it might be April before it could open its small hanging bells.
However, much to my delight I found a small spot in the garden where the sunlight collected on a southward slope, and this little gathering of snowdrops was rising out of the icy ground, with blooms poised to open on the first hint of warming. That they could tolerate below-zero temperatures in the open attests to a hardiness beyond expectation or explanation. I guess though I don't need to explain it... I just want to enjoy it. Galanthus elwesii is the early, or great snowdrop. It is native from western Turkey up through the high Caucasus and west to Eurasia, and should be the snowdrop of choice for most gardeners in this country, as it better tolerates sunnier, dryer, hotter conditions than its frailer, later-blooming little cousin Galathus nivalis, the English snowdrop. Galanthus elwesii is almost always the first bloom in the garden, so its flowering is very special, while nivalis blooms a month or so later when there is plenty of competition for attention.


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