The Urban Pantheist

I was indecisive about including snowdrop (Galanthus sp.) until almost too late. I kind of like the honest depiction of the snowdrop blossom melting away. As could be predicted, it was the first garden flower to sprout from its bulb in one of our perennial beds. It's kind of exciting to find out what was planted in the yard, what is hiding in the soil waiting to emerge. This plant was also 365 urban species #84.

(I am including the "gardening" tag, since this is the product of somebody's gardening, just not mine.)

photo by cottonmanifesto
Urban species #84: Snowdrop Galanthus nivalis

As the twentieth century came to a close, I found myself living in a house in the Boston neighborhood of Brighton. The house had a very small but lush yard, and I made it my business to learn the names of the plants in it. An old book from my mother's library, Peterson's Guide to Wildflowers, was my tool in this endeavor. I learned about black swallow-wort, white snakeweed, black medick, and others.

Summer passed into fall and winter, and with field guide in hand I waited for spring. The first new flowers to arrive were precious little white ones, dangling like tiny three-petaled bells. The Peterson's guide did not identify them. How, I wondered, could such a distinctive plant be skipped from the book--these little flowers growing in an urban yard, surely they should be easy to find and name.

Of course my mistake was in thinking that they were wildflowers. Like so many plants found in the city, snowdrops are deliberately placed in the landscape. They're a good choice for Boston; they are hardy, and the blooms last longer in gloomy weather--a given, in our late winter, when they appear. Often there is still snow on the ground when their bulbs send the blooms up.

Snowdrop is native to Europe, but despite its widespread introduction, is not natualized in North America. When encountered here, it has been planted.