Staying in the Green

Posted by Tony Bielaczyc

When I was growing up, I thought that the most amazing thing in the world was to plant bulbs in the fall, cover the beds with leaves raked from the lawn, let them sit all winter long and then be totally taken in by the appearance of leaves, stems and flowers of all types forgotten 'friends' poking up through the remains of decayed leaves and crusted snow patches atop my mom's flower beds. It seems so completely impossible. How could that happen?

After I learned that many of the same bulbs coming up in our front and back yard in the suburbs of Flint, Michigan had found their way there from places like Turkey and the thoroughly un-garden-like slopes of Azebaijan, it sent my mind reeling further still.  It made me feel like I was part of secret, special club whose interests spanned the globe in search of more improbable plants from unpronounceable, heretofore unknown spots at the other edge of the planet.  I felt as though I was actually part of that special guild.

CONTINUE READING AFTER JUMP

Flash forward forty-some years and my wonderment continues unabated.  Only thing that makes it even crazier is that I now am a garden editor at Martha Stewart and my garden is in South Brooklyn, NY. Try telling that to a 9 year kid in Flint and see what he says...
 
These flowers above and to the right are Galanthus nivalis, also known as snowdrops.   One in a genus of 15 species, particularly prized amongst gardeners all over, they're the dreamiest, sweetest little bulb that shows up really early in spring or late winter, like late February or the beginning of March for me.  They do best in humousy, quick draining soil and dappled shade.  I received them from some awfully friendly folks, Jan Sacks and Marty Schafer in Carlisle, MA.  Jan and Marty run a mail order nursery called Joe Pye Weed's Garden. Their big focus in the nursery is small irises, though they have an absolutely enchanting garden scrambling across and down a rocky slope out back of and all around their house.  I was visiting their place while scouting stories that we eventually shot for Living on ground covers and small Iris. They were nearly overrun with snowdrops coming up between fieldstone paths that wound around the base of white pines.  It was a breathtaking sight for me, something I'd never seen in the flesh, only in pictures of gardens in England.  When I timidly commented on how much I loved the drifts, they responded 'Want some? We have too many!'.  I thought they were joking, of course, until they dug up a 10" clump and put it into a shopping bag without a bat of an eye.

I was given the gift of snowdrops "in-the-green". I'd heard of this many times; snowdrops establish, show and spread best when planted in-the-green, after flowers were gone but foliage was still intact.  However, no one I'd ever met was willing to part with even the smallest bit of the tiny patches they had achingly hovered over and patiently waited to really show.  When you buy snowdrops from a catalog for arrival in fall, they may be good quality but nothing compared to freshly dug bulbs in-the-green.  I'd longed to have even a handful, but it remained on the wish list of things to get, like having all my hair back and a Cotswold cottage.  That is, until I met Jan and Marty.  Thanks to the generosity of a couple of great gardeners in Massachusetts who shared with a boy from Michigan a bunch of bulbs whose origin is believed to be spread across southern Europe, I'm now digging and dividing snowdrops in-the-green in South Brooklyn.  It's really great to be a gardener.

Here's how it's done:

This is a patch of maybe 5-6 individual bulbs I had put in 4 short years ago.  They quickly spread to meet a creeping juniper at the base of a 'Heritage' river birch. Perfect candidates for digging and moving.

They're easily lifted because of their small size, so a whole clump can be had in a single, strategic scoop. I laid them out in smaller tufts around a planter as understory cover for a Japanese maple.  Again, because of their small size, they're easy to plant and set back into the soil just at the depth dug.  Follow the 'depth gauge' at the base of the foliage, where the leaf goes from green to white to get them in correctly.

Informally placed and tucked back in, the bulbs got a shot of water to settle them back into a new home.  And I imagine, in about four more seasons, these snowdrops will be ready for a redistribution to other spots, while in-the-green. Thanks, Marty and Jan.  You're still making smile 5 years on.