Growing Wise : bulbs

Sweet Smelling Spring

Elisabeth — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 22:39:00 GMT

Fragrance is essential in a successful garden. If you are choosing spring-flowering bulbs remember to check labels for any reference to scent. Hyacinths, of course, are the stars of the scented spring garden, but some varieties of tulips and daffodils are also fragrant.

I am fond of double daffodils, and two doubles--'Cheerfulness' and 'Tahiti'--have sweet scents. 'Cheerfulness' has white petals touched with gold towards the centers, while 'Tahiti' sports bold yellow petals with warm orange at the middle of the flower. Both do well in the ground or in pots and can be forced for early spring bloom.

You don't necessarily associate tulips with fragrance, but some have it. I especially like the double early tulip 'Monsella', which is yellow with bright red strips. The big, showy, Darwin hybrid tulip 'Daydream' is apricot-yellow (depending on soil and other conditions), looks great in bouquets and exudes fragrance.

In my garden, looking good is a good start, but to make my all-star list, flowers must be fragrant. The birds, bees and butterflies agree.

Fringed Tulips

Elisabeth — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 16:31:00 GMT

Several years ago I was helping out in a neighbor's back yard. The yard was quite deep and I discovered during the course of my work that my neighbor kept an eight by ten area at the very back for a large compost pile. Her landscaper routinely dumped the grass clippings and fall leaves there, and even though the pile was never watered or turned, over time it broke down into first class compost.

On my first trip back to dump a load of garden debris, a flash of yellow caught my eye. I went over to the shallow end of the compost area and saw that a single, pale yellow fringed tulip had pushed its way up through the compost. It was beautiful--tall and elegant, with fringed petal edges. I wanted it, but when I asked my neighbor about it, she just said, "Oh, it always grows there. Someday I'll move it to a better spot."

Since my neighbor obviously valued the tulip--at least a little--I couldn't just appropriate it. Instead I sought out other fringed varieties, which now populate my garden. Fringed tulips have waxed and waned in popularity over the years and they are probably due for a come-back. Though there are some lovely double forms on the market, I prefer the simplicity of the single types.

Tulips do not always return reliably, but I find that my fringed ones return well, at least for several years. I install a few extra every fall though, to ensure a good display.

In Praise of Stripes

Elisabeth — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 20:38:00 GMT

Today I threw caution to the wind and planted a lot of striped tulips. Of course, it is fall, and nobody will know about this rash act until the tulips bloom next spring, but I feel as if I have committed a small act of rebellion.

For years I maintained a pastel color scheme in my front garden. I bought pastel mix assortments of early, mid and late blooming tulips to ensure a constant display of soft pinks, lavenders, yellows, peaches and creams. The effect was lovely--soft and dreamy--and the neighbors loved it. I loved it.

Then one day I was visiting a friend who had a big vase filled with enormous scarlet tulips on her dining room table. They were stunning. Her garden featured more of the same, with giant "Emperor" type tulips in only two colors--red and white. It was electrifying. When I came home, I looked at my garden and decided that it was too polite and refined. It lacked passion. I resolved that the next time I planted tulips I would pick varieties with strong colors.

Then I saw a picture of 'Carnaval de Nice', a red and white-striped tulip, and I knew exactly what my garden needed--stripes. A whole new world opened up for me, because, of course, there are lots of striped and flamed tulips out there. I looked at Rembrandts and parrots, not to mention more conventional varieties with less flamboyant stripes. Choosing was hard. In the end I stuck with fifty 'Carnaval de Nice' and an equal number of 'Mount Tacoma', a double white-flowered tulip that blooms at the same time as 'Carnaval de Nice'. I planted them in big round holes in groups of five, scattered throughout the garden. The combination will add a little sizzle without making the garden look completely chaotic.

Of course now that the door is open, who knows what will happen next year at this time. I might go crazy and buy a parrot tulip mix or indulge in one hundred viridiflora tulips with green-tinged petals or buy scores of Rembrandts in all kinds of exotic colors. In time my garden may be too hot for the suburbs. You never know.

Investing in the Future

Elisabeth — Sun, 21 Oct 2007 21:15:00 GMT

I always plant bulbs with my fingers crossed. After all, every time you plant a bulb, you are taking a leap of faith. Nobody other than a gardener would buy a lifeless looking brown or gray thing, bury it under four or six or eight inches of soil, mark the spot (or not), ignore it up to six months and then expect spectacular results. Not only are those unborn tulips or daffodils or crocuses on their own, but during a portion of that time the soil will probably be hard as a rock and covered with snow, sleet or ice. Even when the ground isn't frozen, the slumbering bulbs will be at risk of being eaten by a hungry bunch of predators including mice, squirrels, groundhogs, and, if the bulbs last long enough to sprout, rabbits and deer.

But watching new life arising from the earth is one of the great joys of spring, so I, like many people, try to improve my bulbs' chances of survival. We don't have deer in my neighborhood yet, but we do have all kinds of other bulb-loving beasts. To foil them, I usually dig trenches, rather than individual holes, and interplant the tulips with daffodils or alliums, which the plant predators find distasteful. I sprinkle chopped mint leaves or chives or cayenne pepper over the tops of the filled-in trenches because the same animals reputedly don't care for the strong scents of those herbs. If I am planting in a part of the garden that is heavily browsed by digging animals, I even cover the newly dug area with a temporary blanket of landscape cloth or wire mesh, weighting it down and leaving it in place for a few weeks until the animal-magnet smell of fresh earth subsides. In the spring I spray my sprouting treasures with a deterrent spray to make them less desirable.

Of course, depending on your circumstances, you may also have to plant your bulbs in specially made critter-proof boxes, include sharp gravel in the planting holes, or put all your bulbs in an area that is completely surrounded by both a deer fence and a barrier that extends a foot down into the ground. Just as the animals are impelled by a biological imperative to seek out food, plant lovers are impelled by the psychological need to make things grow. In the end, a gardener's just got to do what a gardener's got to do.