Flower. Power!

Three cheers for the well-established garden.

Not well-planned, mind you.

Just, sort of, well-established.

I was thinking about that as I slaved away, prepping the garden beds for a brand new season. Man! I'm outta shape. Muscles squawking mightily this morning. I'd intended to clean up one, maybe two, areas but I got in a groove and just kept on going.

Plus, I wanted to stay ahead of the weather. Spring doesn't really happen in the mountains. We vacillate between summer and winter, and back again, quite often in the same, darn day.

I lack that gene, commonly known as self-control, so my yard is home to 11 different flower patches, the first of which was planted in the summer of 2003. (AKA, the 'well-established' one.)

At some point, this crazy mess might merge into one gigantic garden. Like you see in those jungle movies. Where The Rock, or Schwarzenegger leads the way, wielding a machete  ~ should you have the hutzpah to go for a stroll.

But, right now, they're just separate, sunny flower beds. (Mild-mannered enough that you don't need a macho guide.)

The oldest garden is the last place I visit and the longest place I linger. Not so much to admire. Mostly to catch my breath.

In spring, I'm so exhausted by the time I reach that flower patch, it's nice to just plop down and inspect the perennials peaking out of the muddy soil.

These perennials are so big and bossy, that after 7 summers, they are super self-sufficient. Making life easy as pie for lazy little me.

Heck, they even weed themselves.

Mostly because they're packed in like sardines.

I know... I know... I should thin them out a bit. But, I highly doubt that's gonna happen. I'm likin' this dense pack. It's so crowded in there, most weeds don't stand a chance.

* My dense pack flowers are just tiny green shoots this early in the season. Bulbs are squeezed into what little soil is left in these over-crowded gardens. They keep things colorful while the long-blooming perennials wake up and start growing.

Overkill on the Daffodil

Yesterday was the 185 bulb day.

Before you rush to congratulate me on all that hard work I should confess that 60 of them were Grape Hyacinth bulbs (Muscari.) If those little buggers take more than 10 seconds to plant... well, then, I might be doing a wonderful job but I'm doing it all wrong.

I look like a lunatic out there, marching around with one of those tall, green, garden stakes. I poke a hole in the dirt, drop in a bulb. Cover it up. Move a few inches down the garden path and do it again. Oh, I suppose there are easier ways to plant bulbs. But Bad Dog keeps thinking that garden stake is a stick I intend to throw. He keeps me company the whole time I'm out there ~ with the high hopes I might toss it.

125 Daffies: big ones, small ones, wild ones and more.

"Why so many?" Asks my well-meaning neighbor. You think that's too many? It's not nearly enough!

The Case for Heirloom Bulbs

Powerscourt Gardens, near Dublin, Ireland. I took this photo 20 years ago and I'll bet younger generations of this same Tulip bulb are still blooming.

"Your bulb order is heading to the barn and from there it will be shipped."

I got all warm and fuzzy when I heard my bulbs were heading to the barn. I hoped there were horses in that barn. Maybe even a cow, or two.

How cool would that be if it was a real barn and my bulbs were resting on a big wooden table instead of bouncing down an automated conveyor belt and into a box?

Whatever the case, that barn comment stopped my bitchiness dead in it's tracks. I called to demand where my order was. Mountain snows are just around the corner. I'd like to dig up a little more dirt before that happens.

When my precious bulbs finally arrived I stood at the fence and proudly showed off my purchase to my neighbor. She stared at me in disbelief. How can you possibly have a Hyacinth bulb from 1863?

Then I showed them to my daughter who laughed out loud and promptly asked to borrow some money.

I walked out to the garden shaking my head. Must everything require education?

I mean... really. How could my own daughter be so dumb as to think I'd loan her money after she mocked my gardening passion?

It makes perfect sense to me why we're confused by heirloom bulbs. It's because we've grown up gardening with hybrid bulbs.

Hybrid bulbs are cheap! So, we buy a bunch of them. They don't last very long. So, we go buy some more!

Hybrid bulbs don't reproduce.
Most flower for a few years. Soon their flowering power dwindles or they stop flowering altogether.

Heirloom bulbs eagerly reproduce.
These bulbs split in two. So 10 bulbs quickly become 20 and soon you have a garden filled with pretty spring flowers. They're tough, they last forever. In the long run they're less expensive than hybrids.

Most importantly, heirloom bulbs, like heirloom tomatoes, got voted off the island by big stores simply because they weren't as profitable. Now you know how much you love a good heirloom tomato. Imagine how exciting an heirloom Hyacinth could be.

Long live the MasterCard! Here's my bulb order:

1. Grand Monarque Hyacinth, born 1863
2. Purple-Headed Garlic Allium, born 1766
3. Marjolettii Tulip, born 1894
4. Rip Van Winkle Daffodil, born 1884
5. Spanish Bluebell, born 1906
6. Gipsy Queen Hyacinth, born 1927
7. Princeps Daffodil, born 1830
8. Orange Phoenix Eggs and Bacon Daffodil, born 1731
9. Estella Rijnveld Parrot Tulip, born 1954 ~ which is probably not truly an heirloom. Unless we can call Wunx an heirloom, too. (What say you to that Wunx? :))

Exponential Daffodils

Peeping Tom Daffodils naturalize, making more Daffies every year. I love the 'wild' look of these little guys.

I've been called a cheapskate more than once and that always hurts my feelings. I am not cheap. I'm broke! Totally different scenario.

I have been known to spend a ridiculous amount of money on Daffodils, though. I can't help myself. Cheery yellow flowers perk up my dull brown garden and if you buy the more expensive bulbs they do something extra special.

Quail Daffies go hog wild, doubling the number of flowers very quickly. I love the buttery yellow color of this one.

Some types of Daffodils divide and create more cheery yellow flowers every single year. 10 bulbs turn into 20, then 40 and, well, you get the picture. Bonus! Mrs. Moose flatly refuses to eat 'em.

So, there ya have it. I'm not cheap. I'm all about value.

Carleton Daffodils are big bruisers that don't seem to mind my high winds. These dudes multiply like crazy!

If you have hard as rock soil like me, you've probably destroyed many a cute, little bulb planting tool. Digging holes with an old crowbar works like a charm!

Walmart sells counterfeit Carletons. I planted 'em and they do not multiply...

These gals sell heirloom Daffodil bulbs!

Spring Snows

Ah, the false promise of spring. Those precious warm days that tease me into believing something has changed and perhaps for the better. I tune up my bike and pack away the mittens. Make all sorts of plans for this fresh, new season that's upon us. Then I wake to howling winds and blowing snow and realize that with this, like so many things, I have once again jumped the gun.

Species (Naturalizing) Daffodils

When it comes to things I wish I'd thought of first, the term Design on a Dime* often tops the list. I have a fabulous track record of killing every expensive plant I buy. (Though, the cheap ones do very well.) So, I prowl the discount stores for a screaming deal. Besides, there are much better ways to spend my money - on a plane ticket, for instance, to get the heck out of here once in awhile. Perky yellow Daffodils, gleaming in the late winter sun, boost my spirits while masking the dull, brown beginnings of things to come.

I'm particularly fond of Species Daffodils because they naturalize, or multiply, over time. One bulb becomes two, then four and eventually my one-time investment in bulbs delivers a garden overrun with yellow flowers in early Spring.

Bonus for mountain gardeners: Critters hate the taste of Daffodil bulbs. Moose and deer aren't thrilled about the flowers.

Daffodils don't like rich soil. Putting fertilizer in the planting hole will hurt, not help, the blooms. If you're a real fanatic, you can lighten heavy clay soils with a little sand worked into the bed. (I'm too lazy.)

Squish 'em together. They look better in clumps vs. rows. Think about planting them under deciduous trees. Daffies need sun but they generally bloom long before the trees leaf out. Water until the snow flies. Bulbs put down roots as soon as they're planted. In bud and bloom, they require lots of moisture but Mother Nature generally pitches in with those proverbial April showers.

Species Daffodils and some of the older varieties multiply quickly:

• King Alfred Daffodils have stems reaching 20 inches, and flowers with a span of four inches or more.
• Dutch Master is an improved King Alfred, bred to multiply quickly in the landscape. 14" solid yellow flowers.
• Daffodil Carlton is prized for the speed and ease with which it grows and multiplies. 14-18" yellow flowers.

* 'Design on a Dime' was coined by the clever folks at Home and Garden TV.
** I was shocked to discover that Walmart is selling King Alfreds this year. I'm giving them a try, though I suspect it's a cheaper hybrid version.