On this bleak Valentine’s Day, while 3-foot snow drifts still cover the main borders, a patch of earth at the south wall breathes spring.
Crocuses and snowdrops rush into bloom as fast as a retreating snowbank frees them.
I’ve written before of the species crocus in love and praise. Nothing can shake my devotion nor appease my desire for more and earlier and finer varieties.
Winter Garden
Nevertheless, a winter garden of nothing but crocuses would be as limited as poor Johnny One Note and needlessly so.
A host of other small bulbs provide grace notes: varied forms and heights, a wider range of color.
Scillas, hyacinths, chionodoxa, and Muscari richly supply the blues lacking in crocuses.
The ones I describe are not of the common sort, so mark their names well if you want to avoid weeds.
Scilla Varieties
One of the merits of tiny bulbs is that you can enjoy a great variety in a small space. For this reason, colors should blend rather than compete.
I would exclude Scilla sibirica and its giant variety ‘Spring Beauty’ from this jewel box planting, as their intense gentian blue overpowers any delicate tones in their vicinity.
‘Spring Beauty’ teams better with a bold subject like Narcissus obvallaris, assertive enough to stand out in any company.
Scilla sibirica taurica, the soft blue of a hazy sky, is harmonious but not—with me at least—a very good doer.
Favorite Scilla
My favorite scilla to accompany early crocus is S. tubergeniana, a recent introduction from North Persia.
Its fluffy flowers are pale blue with a darker midrib and accents of blue pollen. Delicate as they appear, they are rugged, in fact, and have come up smiling after being beaten down by heavy snow.
Instead of splitting up into individual units like most bulbs, S. tubergeniana retains its circling crown of stiff leaves. From its center, it sends up an increasing profusion of flowers every year.
Surprise Plants
Chionodoxas are surprise plants. With no advance notice, leaves and buds thrust out of the bare ground all at once.
In two days, their overlapping flowers make a softly blended blues and lavender carpet.
A white eye and pale yellow club of stamens distinguish chionodoxa from the scillas they resemble.
Chionodoxa Species
Chionodoxa luciliae, the familiar variety, grows too tall for its flimsy stem. Heavy rain or wind will dash its pretty flowers in the mud.
C. gigantea is far the better species, with few but larger flowers on a stout stem that holds them upright in any weather.
Chionodoxa hasn’t been seeded for me, but they have increased rapidly below ground to make a charming display in a few years.
I like the changeable silk effect of a random collection, especially in a woodland planting where natural variations are expected. A single color is more desirable for a small patch in a more formal rock garden.
If you find a choice specimen with wide, rippling segments or an especially pleasing tone of blue, you can take it up in bloom, divide and replant it to grow into a uniform mass.
Muscari Tubergeniana
Used in this way, Chionodoxa gigantea makes a flattering alliance with Tulipa kaufmanniana (the type, not the large hybrids).
The tulip’s resemblance to a water lily is enhanced when it floats on its short stem above a sea of blue chionodoxa.
Muscari tubergeniana is an outstanding member of the grape hyacinth family. In my garden, it is far superior to the common grape hyacinth (Muscari armeniacum).
It comes very close to being turquoise, a color as rare in flowers as it is common in catalogs.
To be precise, it is an exact match for a floret of Anchusa myosotiflora. A conspicuous white ruffle sets off the intensity of its color on the edge of its bloomers.
M. tubergenianum has two faults: It is slow to increase, and its stalks reach an ungainly height as they mature.
Since neither defect lessens my pleasure in its rare blueness, I’ll continue to grow it with rapt admiration.
Hyacinthus Azurcus
Nothing could be more engaging than the miniature Hyacinthus azurcus for a select small planting where neatness is essential.
Its stiff spikes, all three inches tall, are thickly set with clear blue bells striped darker on the reverse.
Dainty enough for a Staffordshire flower group, it is as tough as dandelion and quite as fertile, increasing by division and by seed.
Where choice or miffy plants grow in their neighborhood, protect them against invasion by snipping off the hyacinth’s seed heads before they ripen.
If you have trouble finding Hyacinthus azureus, look under muscari where it is often incorrectly lumped— though anyone with half an eye can see that the hyacinth’s flaring bells have no resemblance to the characteristic, close-lipped muscari pout.
Wild Trumpet Daffodil
Exactly in scale with Hyacinthus azureus and a perfect companion for it is the smallest wild trumpet daffodil, Narcissus asturiensis (minimus).
This is a delicious absurdity, utterly disarming, a dollhouse daffodil that instantly takes children’s hearts and rouses fierce acquisitiveness among flower-arranging ladies.
When it first opens, it is usually under 2” inches high but may stretch as tall as four inches before it fades.
It isn’t foolproof but increases slowly where happy—in my experience, under light shade and moist soil than you would ordinarily give a daffodil.
Kingly Snowdrop
I’ve saved the best winter flower for last. It’s the kingly snowdrop, Galanthus elwesii, 10” inches tall with a 2-inch wingspread in the best forms.
It is distinguished from the common snowdrop, G. nivalis, by its majestic size and by a second emerald spot near the top of the tube.
Since these are, of course, wild bulbs, there is great variation in form and in flowering time.
My favorites are those with segments as broad as consomme spoons. Their surface is marble-like, yet the flower’s visual weight is belied by its airy suspension.
Coaxing Bulbs into Earliest Blooms
As I mentioned at the start, a south wall acts as a solar oven, coaxing bulbs into their earliest bloom.
If you have a choice, put them near a porch or covered entry so you can admire them in snowy weather without putting on galoshes.
A sunny rock garden bordering a walk or under a low-skilled window will house a heartwarming collection of small bulbs.
If none of these sites is available, look around your house walls to find where the snow first melts away.
Sometimes an uncounted factor—protection from wind, reflection from a neighbor’s house—will make a spot as warm as any south wall.
I’ve just discovered some daffodil leaves 4” inches high against a wall that faces somewhat north or east.
The exposure wouldn’t be my choice, but daffodils know what pleases bulbs better than I do.
Taking their hint, I’ll plant some crocuses and snowdrops among them and hope for spring in January next year.
44659 by M. M. Graff