I was uncommonly late planting my bulbs this year and, in fact, have one small bag of antique-variety tulip bulbs left in the garage. If they were sentient, they would be wondering if they had been forgotten. Of course, if they were sentient, they would also know that guilt moves me like nothing else. I have no doubt that tomorrow morning, bright and early, guilt will propel me right out of the back door and into the garden with a trowel in my hand.
| I always have a favorite plant, even if that plant is still only a dun-colored bulb. My favorite this fall is ‘Rose of May’, a white double daffodil that won’t bloom until late next spring. Planting it always makes me think of a lovely poem, “A Christmas Carol”, by seventeenth century English poet, Robert Herrick. The short work contains a verse that evokes the Christmas miracle and, in my mind at least, also defines the reason for planting spring-flowering bulbs during the darkening days of fall:
“Dark and dull night fly hence away! And give the honour to this day That sees December turn’d to May.”
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Of course, every spring-blooming bulb that you plant turns December—or September, October or November—into May, but ‘Rose of May’ has the month in its name. It is not among the first flowers to bloom, but it also carries the scent of spring deep within its DNA. ‘Rose of May’ is a double narcissus, producing fluffy flowers that look a little like small white roses. When those blooms open, they exude a perfume that smells sweet and either rose or gardenia-like, depending on your nose. The plants are perfect for positioning along a walkway or close to places where people gather. Planted in drifts of three, five or seven, the fragrance will waft on the May breezes.
Now frequently classified as an heirloom variety, ‘Rose of May’ was introduced around 1950. It was bred in Northern Ireland by Guy Wilson—1885-1962—who was originally bound for life working in his family’s cloth-making business, but detoured into daffodils as a young man, making his first crosses in 1906. He never strayed from that path.
Wilson, who was introduced to white daffodils by his mother, quickly developed a passion for them. Towards the end of his career he wrote, “White daffodils have always had a special fascination for me, and I have worked continuously on them since I began breeding.” Though he also produced varieties with yellow, orange and even pink trumpets or perianths, the breeder is best remembered today for white varieties like ‘Rose of May’, ‘Broughshane’ and the exquisite trumpet daffodil, ‘Empress of Ireland’.
‘Rose of May’ came from a distinguished line of daffodils, some of which are still available today. Its seed parent was the result of a cross between ‘Cushindell’, a Wilson variety featuring white petals surrounding a yellow-green cup with a darker green “eye”, and ‘Cantabile’, with spice-scented flowers sporting white petals and a yellow-green cup with a thin red rim. Both are poeticus-type narcissus, characterized by small to medium white-petaled blooms, with small colored cups. ‘Rose of May’s pollen parent was ‘Smyrna’, a Scottish-bred poeticus narcissus, which also bears white, semi-double petals surrounding an orange-yellow cup with a thin red rim. How did that combination of plants produce a fully double, pure white variety? The secret recipe lies deep in the genetic soup, as deliberately stirred by Guy Wilson.
Like all daffodils, ‘Rose of May’ prefers to be planted six to eight inches deep in well-drained soil. A cool, sunny site will work well, especially if it has consistent moisture without being water-logged. All of that said, I find that this “rose” is relatively undemanding. Because it flowers late, it may not be quite as successful under deciduous trees as some earlier-blooming varieties.
It is too late this year to order ‘Rose of May’, but make a note of it somewhere for ordering late next summer. This past fall the variety was available from several catalog/online retailers, but offerings sometimes change from year to year, so a quick online search at ordering time will get you to the right merchant.
| Later in his “Christmas Carol”, Herrick speaks about the way that divine forces produce the sunshine and rain that “turns all the patient ground to flowers.” If you, like me, still have a few unplanted bulbs, get them planted before that ground runs out of patience. Your reward next May will be ample. | |