Although I have a degree in science, my track record as a gardener is an embarrassment to me. Ever since I pulled up a marigold and ran into the house with it to show my mother that the seeds we planted had sprouted, my impatience has been a hindrance to the development of a green thumb. Mine has more of a bluish tinge.
But I have discovered that I can grow bulbs. This is due to the fact that they will grow in spite of all my attempts to thwart them. They are sturdy little buggers.
I don’t plant anything fancy or exotic. Miniature daffodils, tulips, and iris is my repertoire. They bloom in succession, and then they are gone, leaving me wondering what to do next, which may be the topic of another post.
While they are around, they are pretty cool, and my schedule is not interrupted to care for them. The school bus stops in front of our house, and the kids may pop off a few blooms, but mostly these cheerful vessels of color hang around looking perky through even the latest Easter.
Right now the dafs and tulips are coming up together, in an unprecedented display of solidarity. It’s going to be an interesting year, I just know it!