Apr 22nd, 2024 Monday Cloudy
In your opinion, what is THE signal that spring is indeed here?
The weather this year has been so willful, with very warm spring days in early February (!!). Beautiful sunshine and gentle breeze, temperature in the 60s, yet I sensed a hint of unrealistic optimism. I knew it would not last like that. Surely many people would shout out “hooray” and party like crazy if the weather were to remain dreamy through May, but a sudden change in climate in this manner would spell out disaster for the gardens and crops.
My sense was soon confirmed – within a couple of days, a historical thunderstorm with hail brought the weather back to reality. While folks around me were repining about their collapsed spring illusion, I felt relieved that we would continue to have a proper progression into spring.
As days went by, the back-and-forth between the smiles of spring sister and naughty tricks of winter brother start to wear down my tolerance – exactly WHEN is spring going to come (and stay)?
Last week, I noticed in the patch by our front door, where puschkinias volunteered to be the first messengers of the season, a few tulip buds popped up. They were eager, yet patient. They waited for the warm sunlight to finally shed on them, before opening up their delicate petals. One, two, three……ten of them!
I was pleasantly surprised, not only because I associate tulips with the celebration of spring (the wedding favors for our wedding, which took place in spring, were hand-painted tulip champagne glasses, and we used some tulips in centerpieces as well), that their blooming announces the beginning of real spring, but also because…we only planted SIX tulips!!
That was five years ago, after we bought this house, I was excited to shop for some bulbs. The vision of colorful blossoms welcoming guests into our house warms my heart, so we picked up a mixed bag of bulbs – mostly narcissus, with only six tulips (the bulbs looked different so I can tell). I remember carefully spacing the tulips to fill the entire length of the walkway.
The next spring, the six tulips did not disappoint, though they looked a bit scarce among the river of yellow narcissus. Then the mischievous squirrels living in our neighborhood got into the fun game of digging for bulbs, usually in the fall. I was worried, but my husband shrugged his shoulder.
“We will just plant more next year. You can’t stop the squirrels anyway.” he said.
We became busy with life and work in other parts of the garden, and never got around to plant more bulbs (of the same color). What an amazing gift that we now have ten!!
“Once they get used to the garden here, they start to propagate themselves.” my husband explained to me. I guess those houses with dense patches of tulips may not have planted many bulbs, but the families have lived there for a long time.
Just like us, who have been in this city for quite a few years. We have built connections, established little traditions for us, and cultivated a life of our own. Because we have taken root, we absorb the nutrients from our surroundings and we actively invest our energy here as well.
You have to take root before you can thrive in the soil.