Bulb planting in my garden is always a race against time. I invariably order more bulbs than I can reasonably expect to put in the ground and get hit by a spell of frantic activity about the time the bulb boxes arrive. The bulbs necessarily languish in a cool place for a few weeks, while I set my life to rights, and by the time I start installing the various spring-blooming treasures, the cold weather is hot on my heels.
People with great weather acumen—my sister, our town’s supervisor of public works, our dental hygienist—all think the coming winter is going to start early and end up long, cold and snowy. I haven’t seen any wooly bear caterpillars, so I can’t verify that, but I have no reason to doubt it. That means two things—the ground will be cold when I start planting and even colder when I finish. I have no doubt that once again this year I will be digging tulip bulb holes while cooking the Thanksgiving dinner.
As long as the turkey goes in the oven and the tulips go in the ground, it will all come out fine.