Tick, tick, tock goes the garden clock,
Plant those bulbs before they rot.
Too late, too cold, too soon, too slow—
Plant them now… or never know.
A particular kind of panic settles into a gardener’s bones more important than weather forecasts or watering schedules. Suddenly, one realizes the bulbs must be planted right now, and possibly last week. The urgency arrives without warning, usually while sipping coffee and gazing at perfectly empty flower boxes that were prepared just weeks ago.
This realization sent us racing to the garden center, only to discover that it’d vanished, like a mirage. Locked, we found an empty cavern where rows of flowers and trees once lived. Gardening season ends in September, and we are too early or late, however you want to look at this situation.
Thank goodness, our new bulbs were waiting in the garage. HHH doesn’t waste money buying hothouse flowers from Walmart. Planning carefully, he’s planted the most beautiful array of blooms that will arrive year after year. Everything from Iris to Tulips, I only need to go outside and select the bouquet of the week.
Back at Winterpast, the front yard looks refreshed and smug with the crisp, new flower boxes waiting with purpose. Meanwhile, weeds have taken full advantage of the balmy 50-degree afternoon skies, popping up everywhere without invitation or plan, disrupting our plans.
Ignoring the weeds for a moment, our entire focus was on getting bulbs into the ground. Repeating, “It’s not that late,” and “People plant later than this all the time,” yesterday was an exercise in optimism wrapped in dirt.
Of course, no plan at Winterpast is complete without considering the local mustangs. As we imagine bulbs sleeping peacefully underground, the mustangs are imagining dinner reservations. I picture them watching from the hills above us while quietly taking notes. “Ah yes,” one seems to say, “freshly painted boxes. Clearly the appetizers.”
Will these bulbs bloom gloriously in spring, filling the front yard with color and vindication? Or will they become the most expensive forage the mustangs have enjoyed all season? That remains to be seen. But still, we plant because gardeners always do, with hope. With crossed fingers, we understand that nature has the final say, sometimes showing up wearing hooves.
With bulbs in the ground and the weeds taking over, the garden center remains closed until March and the mustangs keep watch. Spring feels close enough to believe in, and belief, after all, is what keeps us digging. 🌱🐎
