This afternoon with a tiny window of light left on this November day, I managed to install my second round of bulbs – something that feels like a huge achievement as the workweek and other commitments compete for my time. And you never know how the weather will be on the weekend.
I adore planting bulbs, but as I noted here a few weeks ago, I hold off planting them because I pretty much want the ground to seal over and harden as soon as I install them, so the pesky squirrels won’t dig them up. It’s a strategy I hold fast to. I used to actually fasten old screens over the area where I’d planted and also shook red pepper around the bulb installation as a deterrent. Not the most efficient system, admittedly. Now, I simply hold off until mid to late November.
I’d nearly forgotten about ordering bulbs this year but had saved my copy of John Scheepers catalog: Beauty From Bulbs/The Art & Soul of Spring. The Connecticut-based company has long been my go-to for bulbs, and I can’t resist ogling their color photos, oohing and ahhing every page.
I would go so far as to say that bulb catalogs are the gardener’s version of Sports Illustrated’s annual swimsuit edition. I’ve long since given up trying to be thin or gutsy enough to wear the gear from the latter. I’d rather be outfitting my garden with fritillaria than myself with pieces that have the feel and resilience of Clingwrap. It’s not so much an acquiescence to middle age as it is a preference for the practical. Bulbs are accessible, inexpensive, attractive and diverse and last many seasons.
When it comes to popularity, nothing tops the tulip. They were once so coveted that $25,000 was paid for a single bulb. I’m referring to the episode of Tulipmania that gripped 17th-century Holland! Between 1634 and 1637, a major financial phenomenon resulted from the frenzy created over the tulip, something that would never be repeated on such a scale in the horticultural world.
While tulips are typically my main interest when I shop bulbs, (Scheepers has 29 pages of them) daffodils (represented in equal numbers) are surely second. There are so many types, it’s almost exhausting to search through them all. Whatever hue and size you desire, you will find it here. Before being swept away, I urge you to try to think of specific sections of the garden and the color you would like to see come next spring. What perennials will be in bloom? Do you want it to be an informal, natural-looking garden or a statement about color? When in the spring season do you want it to bloom (early, middle or late), and what can you do to disguise the withering foliage once the blooms have passed.
Tulips often require replanting each year, except in the case of species tulips. So, it was natural that this was the bulb that most filled my cart. I have a raised bed off of our back deck, and it is dazzling to have it brimming with all sorts of colors and shapes of tulips. You might not want to plant a border in the same manner, but this is largely for cutting so I don’t need a uniform design here. Quite the other extreme.
I have to confess I’m wild about Parrot tulips with their exotic, fringed plumage and cutting-edge striations. I ordered a batch of “La Courtine” which sports bright golden-yellow with narrow scarlet stripes alongside exterior green feathering and ruffled edges. So reminiscent of our little green and yellow parakeet “Betty White” (our pet sitter Charlotte deserves credit for naming her and her mate “Gainsborough” for his Little Blue Boy color). Along with these, I also purchased the “Parrot Tulip Mixture” to plant in the same area.
My other favorite kind of tulip is the Rembrandt reminiscent of the 17th-century Tulipmania varieties, but they were out of stock by the time I placed my order. I did secure a batch of Emperor tulips which come from a wild species from Central Asia. My choice “Flames Mystery” will add a bright red color to our patio area next April, and with a little luck they will naturalize.
The tulips still await planting, but I did put in a number of bulbs thus far including the recent narcissus “Silver Chimes” that promise eight flowers per stem with a silvery white perianth and a soft primrose-yellow cup that pales as it matures. I installed them between the prostrate juniper that serves as a base to our Elizabeth Magnolia. A few years back I’d put miniature bulbs here where they continue to be, but I realized they didn’t really show well (too diminutive), so I’m hoping these Narcissi will work and also jibe well with the soft yellow blossoms of the tree.
One never really knows exactly how your canvas will look when they emerge in spring, but I try to envision the picture I’m trying to create. I added more Spanish bluebells to a section of the woodland garden, under an ailing rhododendron and a handful of erythronium commonly called dog’s tooth violet or trout lily. To give a natural look, I placed them between an old decaying stump and a standard hydrangea “Pinky Winky.”
Another bulb (actually a tuber) that I am testing this year is winter Aconite, one of the earliest spring bloomers. This 1892 naturalizer yields vivid, lemon-yellow flowers that hungry bees need to thrive after their long winter hibernation. They are also deer and rodent resistant. I planted them for a splash of color near our little fishpond. And finally, though I have many snowdrops along the front wall that have spread over the years, I was intrigued by the “nivalis Flore Pleno” or double snowdrop. This will go in a side bed where the light is filtered, and the soil retains a bit of moisture and only a few spring blooms reside.
The act of planting bulbs is part mechanical – using the t-handled bulb planter to open the soil and then placing the bulb the required number of inches deep and then tenderly yet firmly covering the opening. But it also has a mental component: sparking daydreams of creating a living masterpiece – much like the gardens Claude Monet meticulously cultivated at Giverny, designed specifically to inspire his paintings. Channeling my inner Monet, I can only hope my own garden will offer some art-worthy brushstrokes of its own.
“To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.” – Audrey Hepburn