It's about this time of year that I get a little desperate to see something blooming. The other day we had some Spring-like weather pass through, and despite my busy schedule, I managed to find time to do a little snooping around in the garden. That led to a little digging around in the garden, which of course led to actually doing some planting. In January. Yes, I've lost my mind. And no, I'm not a bit concerned about it.
Here's the thing: The sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, and the outdoor temperature gauge was shouting "68! 68! 68!". All night long I'd had visions of bright yellow daffodils dancing in my head, and I had to get out there and see if my dreams had come true.
They hadn't. The daffodils, usually the very first plant to pop up from the thawing earth in the late winter landscape, were still sleeping. Obviously, they'd heard the long-range forecast and, unlike me, weren't fooled by the Spring-like afternoon. With a possible snowstorm coming this weekend and several weeks of Winter left on the calender, I don't blame them for staying snug in their earthy bed.
So after checking every single flower bed for signs of life and finding none, I turned to my next task--which also involved daffodils. Daffodil bulbs, that is.
Here's the thing: The sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, and the outdoor temperature gauge was shouting "68! 68! 68!". All night long I'd had visions of bright yellow daffodils dancing in my head, and I had to get out there and see if my dreams had come true.
They hadn't. The daffodils, usually the very first plant to pop up from the thawing earth in the late winter landscape, were still sleeping. Obviously, they'd heard the long-range forecast and, unlike me, weren't fooled by the Spring-like afternoon. With a possible snowstorm coming this weekend and several weeks of Winter left on the calender, I don't blame them for staying snug in their earthy bed.
So after checking every single flower bed for signs of life and finding none, I turned to my next task--which also involved daffodils. Daffodil bulbs, that is.
Last weekend while at the store I stumbled across some leftover bags of bulbs in the clearance aisle. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the bulbs were firm with nice green shoots peeking out of them despite being trapped inside a plastic bag on a metal shelf at the grocery store. With the odds stacked against them, they hadn't given up. Clearly those bulbs had a stronger than average desire to survive. That's right up my alley, of course, so you can see where this is going...
Straight to my garden. Under the pear tree, to be more specific. Daffodils are a good companion plant for fruit trees, so I dug about fifty small holes around the base of the trunk and placed a daffodil bulb in each one. I covered the bulbs with soil and stood back to survey my work.
I was satisfied, even though I'm well aware that mid-January is not the ideal time to plant Spring-flowering bulbs. That's a task for Autumn because the bulbs require a period of chilling before they bloom, and the long winter ahead provides just that.
Having said that, you and I both know that things don't always go according to plan. Since I just recently came across these bulbs, this was a case of better late than never. I knew that daffodils had a better chance of survival than most bulbs, since they're known to be tough and long-suffering. You can often spot them springing up around abandoned farmhouses and among the ruins of neglected outbuildings, flourishing despite the lack of nurturing. I figured if anything could adjust to an ill-timed planting, it was these dainty yellow flowers.
I was satisfied, even though I'm well aware that mid-January is not the ideal time to plant Spring-flowering bulbs. That's a task for Autumn because the bulbs require a period of chilling before they bloom, and the long winter ahead provides just that.
Having said that, you and I both know that things don't always go according to plan. Since I just recently came across these bulbs, this was a case of better late than never. I knew that daffodils had a better chance of survival than most bulbs, since they're known to be tough and long-suffering. You can often spot them springing up around abandoned farmhouses and among the ruins of neglected outbuildings, flourishing despite the lack of nurturing. I figured if anything could adjust to an ill-timed planting, it was these dainty yellow flowers.
I don't know what fate awaits these bulbs, but still, I can now rest easy knowing that I did my best to give them the chance they were yearning for. And if I get to see even one season of those sunny yellow trumpet-shaped flowers brightening up the ground beneath the old pear tree, I'll be happy. And I think they will be too. After all, compared to the bleak, cold, industrial shelf I rescued them from, they're in a much better place now.
All I have left to do is sit back and wait...and snoop around under the pear tree every now and then. You never know when something might pop up. I'll keep you posted--I know you can't hardly handle the suspense. Oh wait, it's me who has that issue. It's a classic symptom of "Garden Fever", and despite my healthy immune system, I seem to succumb to this sickness every winter. If I'm gonna get a fever, though, this is the one I prefer. Good thing, too, because it's extremely contagious!
All I have left to do is sit back and wait...and snoop around under the pear tree every now and then. You never know when something might pop up. I'll keep you posted--I know you can't hardly handle the suspense. Oh wait, it's me who has that issue. It's a classic symptom of "Garden Fever", and despite my healthy immune system, I seem to succumb to this sickness every winter. If I'm gonna get a fever, though, this is the one I prefer. Good thing, too, because it's extremely contagious!
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