The ordering season for fall-planted bulbs, including daffodils, tulips, and hyacinths, starts each year in spring when the flowers appear. It continues through the gardening season until about Halloween, with the few unsold bulbs languishing after that at the back of garden centers’ and nurseries’ display areas.
Despite my best efforts at speed and efficiency this past couple of weeks, bags of bulbs are still waiting in my dining room. As I sort them out for the big weekend planting orgy, I consider what this year’s bulb choices say about me.
I ordered lots of daffodils, which says, at the most basic level, that I acknowledge the ongoing presence of squirrels and other varmints in my garden. Squirrels avoid daffodils, just as they avoid Great Danes and other distasteful things. Daffodil bulbs are cheaper—though possibly less affectionate—than a Great Dane.
My daffodil purchases this year suggest that I have given in to a craving for opulence and elegance. I bought a couple of bags of Narcissus ‘Double Poets’, which feature frilly, double, white-petaled blooms. Another white double, ‘Daphne’, is very similar in opulence and configuration. ‘White Marvel’ carries the theme forward, with the added bonus of two or three fluffy white flowers on each stem. The heirloom variety ‘Louise de Coligny’ is equally luxurious, but with a little colorful rebellion thrown into the mix in the form of a frilly, salmon-pink cup surrounded by white petals. The flowers are sweet scented, which adds to the glamorous effect, not to mention providing solace to the soul. ‘Llanfair’ also has a salmon-pink cup, but sports a more elegant form than ‘Louise de Coligny’, with a long trumpet, sounding forth from a halo of slightly reflexed white petals. Pale yellow ‘W.P. Milner’ is even shorter at six to eight inches tall, with slightly twisted petals.
Reality occasionally intrudes on my garden planning, even though I would much rather indulge in flights of flowery fantasy. This year’s reality check focused on the idea that a mature garden like mine does not have an abundance of wide open spaces for additional plants. Before traveling back to the endless botanical gardens in my mind, I purchased a couple of miniature daffodils. ‘Sun Disc’, grows only eight to 12 inches tall, with yellow petals maturing to cream.
The same reasoning led me to purchase 50 ‘Panda’ crocuses, with bold flowers of darkest purple and cream yellow, and 100 miniature iris ‘Painted Lady’, which will flower in spring with diminutive blooms of sky blue.
My longtime love affair with hyacinths is somewhat subdued this year, but far from over. Next spring, the garden will feature ‘City of Haarlem’, in soft yellow, and ‘Splendid Cornelia’, with lilac flowers. The opulent theme continues with these bulbs, as they share the intoxicating fragrance that is the hallmark of the big Dutch hyacinths.
The varmint-related reality check that led me to acquire a plethora of daffodils has also affected my tulip purchases. Returning to the Great Dane theme, I contemplate the idea that acquiring a large dog would foil not only squirrels, but deer, which tend to eat conventional, large-flowered tulips within a nanosecond of their emergence from the ground. While investigating Great Dane rentals last June, I invested in species tulips, which are smaller and seem less attractive to Mr. Antlers, his wingmen, his harem of does, and his many offspring. The species tulips are also much more likely to naturalize and return every year than some of their larger-flowered relatives. This year’s purchases include ‘Hilde’ a little tulip from Crete with pale pink, star-shaped blooms, and small, yellow-flowered Tulipa sylvestris, an heirloom that Thomas Jefferson’s enslaved gardeners planted for him at Monticello.
Even though I will be planting low-growing tulips this year, my purchases also speak to a love of drama—at least in the garden. ‘Peppermint Stick’ is a clusiana tulip, also small in stature, but large in impact. It boasts red and white striped chalices on slender stems. Tulipa kolpakowskiana reflects my species tulip-focus as well as my penchant for plants with complicated names. It features the small flowers characteristic of species tulips, and petals of yellow streaked on the undersides with red. I will plant it in the “unpronounceable moniker” area of the garden somewhere near the peony that goes by Paeonia mlokosewitchii.
Most of all, my bulb purchases speak to hope, which is occasionally drowned out by the loud noises of real life, but never completely silenced. My mind returns again and again to one version of the legend of Pandora ’s Box. When opened, the container spilled its contents–every kind of evil–out into the world. The only thing left behind in the box was hope. Hope can take many shapes, but I often think that it looks like a spring-flowering bulb—unprepossessing now, but ready to spring to beautiful life in a few short months.