Snowdrops are the first sign of hope for the coming year. Rain, snow or ice, these little toughies never let us down. Originating in southern Europe and western Asia, snowdrops have readily colonised deciduous woodland in Scotland for centuries. And they continue to do so in woods and estates throughout the country.

So, with or without a garden, we can all enjoy their spectacle. The annual Scottish Snowdrop Festival started yesterday and runs till 11 March. With 60 events planned, there should be a participating garden for you to visit nearby.

Most of the snowdrops these gardens grow belong to 3 species: Galanthus plicatus; G. elwesii; and G. nivalis. ‘Plicatus’ means ‘folded’ and describes how the leaves have folds to each side of a silver centre. ‘Elwesii’ has broad, sometimes twisted glaucus leaves. It copes especially well with dry conditions so lives happily beneath thirsty trees. But ‘nivalis’, once wrongly thought to be native to Scotland, is the most commonly grown species here.

As they paint a bank white, these dainty little bulbs are undoubtedly at their most captivating. But small clumps beneath a couple of trees or in a piece of rough grass at the bottom of the garden, are also winners. Over time they spread, and it pays to lift and divide clumps every 3 or 4 years. They’ll steadily spread again, giving you another harvest.

Gardeners are often advised to lift and replant snowdrops ‘in the green’, immediately after flowering. Because these bulbs won’t tolerate drying out, it’s safer to lift while they’re fully hydrated and haven’t had a chance to dry out. But there’s a drawback in doing this. The roots are, inevitably slightly damaged and this stimulates premature dormancy, before bulbs have built up enough starches. Although snowdrops, especially G. nivalis, find this treatment less damaging than other bulbs, it’s probably safest to mark a clump you want and dig up in autumn in the usual way.

Alternatively, you could save seed from some of your favourite specimens. But this is a fiddly process that takes 3 years for a plantable bulb to form. Perhaps the solution is to let the local ant community do the job for you. They regard the seed as a delicacy and fortunately drop some while carting it off to their nests.

If you don’t have a suitable place in the garden or simply want to get up close and enjoy a fragrant whiff of honey, why not pot up some snowdrops and put them on a wall or windowsill, as I do? And with around 20 different species and more than 300 cultivars, you might be lucky enough to have an unusual one to treasure.

Galanthus enthusiast, Mick Crawley, emeritus professor of Botany at Imperial College, London, steers us through this complex world in his Twitter account. [@crawley_mick].

You certainly need an eye for detail, as Crawley explains how to identify ‘the most impressive cultivar’ of G. elwesii ‘Big Boy’. ‘It has green stripes on the outer tepals, and a huge, solid, dark-green stripe covering all but the tip of the inner tepal.’ But that’s just for starters. ‘Other G. elwesii have more complicated markings on their inner tepals. With ‘Maidwell L’, the apical and basal spots are merged into a large X.’

Crawley also introduces us to the best and worst of snowdrops. A stunning example is ‘G. nivalis f. pleniflorus ‘Flore Pleno’ ‘Lady Elphinstone’. ‘The multiple inner tepals are marked in yellow rather than green.’ And he is quite unforgiving saying some are famous for how ugly they are. He slates the muddled green tepals of Galanthus nivalis ‘Blewbury Tart’ found in 1975 in Blewbury churchyard.

Plant of the week

Salix purpurea ‘Gracilis’. A compact shrub only growing to 1.5 metres with glowing crimson, purple stems in winter. Small grey, green leaves and silvery catkins add year round colour