Right now I have patches of snowdrops coming into bloom. The earliest appeared on Christmas day, followed by a long fallow period while winter did its worst. Now, the daylight hours last longer and the snowdrops are brave enough to emerge. I have a score of different varieties, but my favorite—the one I have been waiting for since this time last year—is ‘Lady Elphinstone’.
Of course the ‘Lady’ has a more formal Latin name: Galanthus nivalis f. pleniflorus. Like all snowdrops, ‘Lady Elphinstone’ is a small, ground-hugging plant with dangling flowers, each of which bears three elongated outer petals and several shorter inner petals. ‘The inner petals are doubled, giving the blooms added heft and a special allure. What makes ‘Lady Elphinstone’ even more interesting is that the markings on those doubled petals are yellow instead of the usual green. The average person probably doesn’t notice snowdrop markings, but I can tell you that if you lie down on your stomach and get nose to nose with a blooming snowdrop, you will see all kinds of things.
Galanthus nivalis, the common snowdrop’s species name, comes from two Latin words. “Galanthus” means white and “nivalis” means snowy or growing in the snow. The creators of Nivea® lotion were probably thinking of that when they perfected a snowy white beauty potion designed to give users perfect skin.
When I was still a galanthus novice, I saw a picture of ‘Lady Elphinstone’ in a book and fell in love with the flower’s lush form and beautiful yellow markings. . I tried to find an American source for either bulbs or plants, but never succeeded. I consoled myself by dividing my clumps of ordinary snowdrops, but, like any true garden fanatic, I still pined for the unattainable double yellow snowdrop.’
Then, finally, I found a source. A garden magazine article mentioned a small nursery that specialized in snowdrops. I contacted Temple Nursery in Trumansburg, New York, and the proprietor, Hitch Lyman, sent me his catalogue. ‘Lady Elphinstone’ was in residence and graced the first page. The price was high, the annual window of plant availability was narrow and the limit was one plant, but I ordered immediately. ‘Lady Elphinstone’ arrived several months later “in the green”, having been dug from an established clump just after the flowers faded. I raced out to the garden and installed the plant immediately. The only wrinkle was that I had to wait until the following spring to see the ‘Lady’ strut her stuff in my garden.
The wait was worth it. The next March, ‘Lady Elphinstone’ emerged from her winter slumber, looking as lovely as her PR photo. She has prospered ever since.
But I am never content to simply grow a plant; I need to know its story. I did research–lots of it–and found that ‘Lady Elphinstone’s tale is as elusive as the plant itself. The Elphinstones are an aristocratic Scottish clan, dating back to 1510. The landscape of English and Scottish history is littered with them, and England’s National Portrait Gallery has renderings of at least twelve different distinguished Elphinstones. In the twentieth century, Lady Mary Bowes Lyon, aunt of England’s Queen Elizabeth, married an Elphinstone, giving the family a connection to the English royals. Lady Mary was interested in botany, publishing a book called Flowers and Their Families in 1946. Though she apparently had nothing to do with snowdrops, she had her own floral namesake–a Scottish-bred, apricot-flowered hybrid tea rose, ‘Lady Elphinstone’, introduced in 1921.
After sifting through a large amount of Elphinstone lore, I finally found a notation about Sir Graeme Elphinstone, who reportedly discovered the showy little snowdrop in 1890 while walking on the grounds of his Cheshire estate, Heawood Hall. Sir Graeme named the unusual plant in honor of his wife or daughter. The snowdrop was so interesting and different that he gave it to a noted Scottish plantsman and snowdrop enthusiast, Samuel Arnott. Arnott (1852-1930) was fabled for passing choice varieties on to influential gardening friends, and that is probably how ‘Lady Elphinstone’ found its way into circulation.
Even in the British Isles, availability is limited. When I originally visited the Royal Horticulture Society’s website, I found less than a dozen nurseries listed as suppliers of the double yellow variety, and not all of them actually carried it among their current offerings. Now eight suppliers are listed.
I suspect that I know why. In my garden, at least, ‘Lady Elphinstone’ prospers, but is slow to increase. According to some sources, the yellow markings also occasionally revert to green, making the plant indistinguishable from the more common green-marked, double-flowered ‘Flore Pleno’.
So why go to all the trouble and expense of acquiring this semi-obscure snowdrop? Because I am a plant collector at heart and I an especially fond of yellow flowers. Why spend hours slaving over a hot computer and trolling through reference volumes to discover the plant’s origins? As a historian I love to dig into the past. As a suburbanite I need to know all the gossip about the individuals I invite into my garden. After all, the presence of a genuine Scottish aristocrat might do wonders for local property values.
Hitch Lyman, of the Temple Nursery, digs and ships his snowdrops during the first week of April each year. To obtain a copy of The Temple Nursery’s catalog, send $3.00 to the Temple Nursery, Box 591, Trumansburg, New York 14886. In prior years, Carolyn’s Shade Garden, an online/mail order vendor in Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania has also carried ‘Lady Elphinstone’. Her website is https://carolynsshadegardens.com/. Though her inventory is somewhat smaller than Hitch Lyman’s, she also carries many beautiful varieties.