a place of your own
The weather is fickle, leaning on the side of bright and sunny right now. It rained hard yesterday, and the sky was so dark it looked like dusk in the middle of the afternoon. Sunshine, rain, sunshine again.
The temperatures rose and fell with the moisture levels, trying to stabilize into a more seasonally appropriate range. The days are too short already, passing by faster than the leaves carried by the wind, and in the middle of a somewhat uncoordinated schedule I almost missed the spring bulb planting.
Every fall I get weary of anything that requires me to get out in the garden and have to watch it languish under a glut of leaves, weeds and sticks. It is disheartening to entrust perfectly good spring flowers to a pile of wet debris, but if I want to have daffodils in spring I’ll have to force myself.
I was told the daffodil clumps grow over time, because their bitterness keeps them safe from squirrels and rabbits, but it appears that the ones roaming through my yard are either desperate or missing their taste buds, and for this reason I have to replenish the bulb stock every fall.
Like a home improvement enthusiast who picks up the pace in painting the fence in order to ensure the paint won’t run out before coverage is complete, I’m planting faster.
I noticed last spring that the classic yellow jonquils are the most resilient, even the miniature ones. The fragrant, double, and rosy colored ones are too much work. I guess it’s time to start looking for next spring’s batch if I can manage to summon two minutes worth of focus to do it. Cold season goldfish brain.