Hidden Love Story & Immortal Spring Bulbs for Deep South Gardens

I imagine he wore a threadbare fedora. He'd swiped it when it was left by some visitor who'd walked all the way out here to compliment the cook. His wife, the cook, said, "You can keep it. But make yourself useful."

Her kitchen, a wood-sided building faded to rusty red, sat 100 yards from the main house. Kitchens used to be built separately for fire safety. Inside, a pine butcher table and stacks of pans revolved around a gaping brick fireplace. Like other farm outbuildings, it was a practical white building designed to do a job. She thought it needed prettying up.

Through the fatback smoke, and biscuit air, she said, "Just plant these flowers all the way 'round."

He took off his new hat to bend, squat, and dig for her. They weren't flowers yet, but papery bulbs no bigger than garlic. But soon and for decades after, every spring, even after that fedora faded and he went underground too, they reminded her of that sweet moment.

Bone white and designed to do a job, these flowers outlasted the kitchen, the fedora, and the love.

In the South, we call them snowdrops. They are not the snowdrop flowers of colder climes. I found them, a century later, still flowering in the rectangular footprint of the old kitchen, way out in a field. If you didn't know about how kitchens used to be away from the house, you'd wonder why anyone planted a rectangle of bulbs out here for the donkeys and deer to enjoy.

We grow snowdrop here as a long-lived perennial. Some folks call it snowflake. Botanists call it Leucojum. In cooler places, they grow something else as well. The flowers are similar; they call it snowdrop, too, but those are in the genus Galanthus, and they won't live for more than a few years down here.

Southern snowdrops' handsome winter leaves grow from December through May. White bells tipped with green from February through March. Find them on graves, under old bushes, in yards, and in the roots of old trees.

They're survivors. You can still plant them, too. In fact, November is a great time to plant as the ground is cooling, and they love that. Bulbs planted now will flower in late March. We planted 1,000 last week. Southern snowdrop is my go-to, 100-percent, gonna-live-and-thrive-and-multiply-and-bring-smiles spring bulb.

I sure hope that one day, some child wanders through a marsh, picks some, or digs some of these bulbs, and wonders about me. Then, the spirit and wisdom of that cook and that man with a shovel and tattered hat will flow through me right into a new generation of flower lovers.

We only plant the giant Leucojum, 'Gravetey Giant'

The storm and a medical issue this old-man gardener (me) delayed our bulb planting! But we have a plan, and it’s time to get to it. And there is an excellent chance of rain next week!

Check out our spring bulbs, which are ready to ship. Click here.

This is a bench of Jenks design, inspired by old barns and corn-crib siding. It’s planted with Queen Fabioloa, a US native bulb that flowers in May.