Bulbs

It all seems so obvious now, that planting tulip bulbs in groups is
waaay easier than one at a time.  Well,
that much I would have guessed but for some reason I thought we’re not supposed to do it that way.  So my 50 tulips
in front of a sunny border have always sprung from 50 separate holes.  But having learned
that Elizabeth sticks 50 of them in ONE HOLE and GETS AWAY WITH IT,
well damn, I can bunch ‘em up a bit, right?

So I planted in groups of 3, 5 and
7, resulting in the digging of only 10 holes for my yearly batch of 50
tulips.   And I already know they’re going to look better that way
because when I’m looking for a really super photo of them at their
peak, I crouch and contort myself to get as many as possible in the shot.  To me this is more proof that
the quest for beautiful garden photographs can be a fine guide to garden
design itself.  ("Let’s see; where can I plant this for a killer photo?")

Oh, oh, and another big advantage of bunching is that it’s actually
possible to put squirrel-prevention screening on top of them, which it
sure wasn’t when I planted all 50 scattershot among the perennials.  So
when I saw the squirrels digging right on top of where I’d planted them
(thankfully, stopping when they hit the red pepper flakes on top of
each one, but still messing up the planting) I knew I needed more protection than red pepper flakes,
and it was easy to cut just 3 pieces of wire window screening to cover
the tulip areas.  (Note to 2008 calendar: remove the screens by late March.)

And here’s one of those gardening tips to add to the frenzy of bulb
worship we seem to be in the midst of over on GardenRant.  Plant them in pure compost to make it super-easy.  My tulip border started life in my garden as a gully,
so I filled it in with pure compost and man, digging in it is a breeze.
Sliding my spade in that friable black goodness, well, it’s like
bud-ah, to steal from an old SNL skit.  And people like Elizabeth with
big raised beds all know this but here in the burbs, not so much.

WHAT THE USUAL SOURCES TELL US
I went a’surfing the Web and:

• Dutch Garden’s site offers the design idea that bulbs look best
  in informal groups of 5 to 11.  Endorsing the massing in one hole?  Well, no, because they go on to recommend a solid block of color or 20+ bulbs
  "planted just a few inches apart".  So either that’s lots of separate holes or a much bigger hole than I had in mind.
• Here’s Cornell
  telling us that planting tulips 4-6 inches apart leaves enough room for
  bulbs to "grow for 2 or 3 years before they  need to be divided."  Ah,
  so if that’s the reason we shouldn’t plant them cheek by jowl I can safely ignore that advice because my tulips are destined to being yanked and composted after they fade, anyway. 
• eHow has a video on the subject by the very well qualified Willi
  Galloway, West Coast editor of Organic Gardening Magazine,
  but she makes is pretty intimidating.  Materials needed before digging: soft rock
  phosphate, bulbs, compost, trowel, chicken wire, chicken cutters.  I can’t really disagree with anything she recommends
  but it’s kinda daunting, not the "Bulbs are easy-peasy" reports you
  read on blogs.

So are experts there to specify the ideal, while bloggers fill readers in on the reality, the good-enough, the relax-and-enjoy of growing plants?

{ 3 comments }

Conscientious
gardeners no doubt already have their daffodils in the ground, or at
least already purchased, right?  But not me.  I JUST remembered it’s almost time to choose and plant my tulip display for the next year, so I hastened to consult this selection at my usual source, John Scheepers:  Single late tulips.   

Why the single lates?  Because they bloom after the daffodils have
faded, rather than competing with them and creating too much floral excitement at once.
And while I liked this year’s combination of Cum Laude, Esther and
Francoise, they were out of Cum Laudes and I like something new each year in any event. 

So here’s a sneak preview of the Great Tulip Display of 2008:  20 of these
lovely Pink Diamonds, 20 of the multi-colored Blushing Girl, and 10
Violet Beauty.  The 50 tulips will cover the
front of a sunny
backyard border and cost about $40, including shipping.  Remember I grow
them as annuals, ripping out their hideous foliage as soon as the flowers fade because, like I
say, it’s the front of the border.  But for about the cost of a
floral arrangement that would only last a couple of days we can have huge displays of
blooming glory that last 2-3 weeks.  So to anyone who thinks ripping out tulips after one season is wasteful, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.  They don’t repeat worth a damn, anyway.

So readers, where do you buy your bulbs?

{ 8 comments }

I’m really, really liking the latest results in my tulip border.  Those 50 Blue Aimables I planted here are joined by what can never be predicted - occasional repeaters from previous years’ designs.  The key just may be to, of course, try something new every year but all within a compatible mix of colors.  So here you see assorted China Pinks and Cum Laudes and Esthers popping with the Blue Aimables.

I can promise you more photos where this came from - when the tulips will have the blooms of azaleas, viburnums and weigelas as their background.  I’m just being impatient to show you these now.

{ 14 comments }

Now I’m the first one to write off tulips as nonrepeaters; I even rip them out and start fresh every year in my main tulip border.  But back behind this large oak I’ve stuck assorted tulips over the years and have to admit that these dark pink Darwins have been blooming their hearts out for over a decade.  I think they look grand with the Actaea daffodils on the left.  Actaeas are smaller-flowered, later-blooming, clump-forming and reliably perennial.

But really, I’ve gotta hand it to those Darwins.

{ 9 comments }

Another part of the winter experience at the Ginter Botanical Garden is closing the conservatory door behind you, breathing in the moist air, and smelling paperwhites.

{ 14 comments }

My fall bulb order has arrived and this is what I got, 50 of them.  It’s the 1916 tulip ‘Blue Aimable’ and here’s what I know about it: "Though it’s not blue, it’s a soft, silvery lilac that combines amiably with just about everything. Even better, its tall, graceful blossoms last and last in bloom, longer than any other tulip we’ve grown. Darwin, 24 inches, zones 3-7, from Holland."  And under $20 for the bunch.

I’ve arrived at this simple 50-of-one-tulip design idea after a colorful assortment of tulip design failures:

• Tulips bloom too early, competing with the daffodils and leaving the border all spent-leafy in late spring.
• Different tulips fail to bloom together, as intended.
• Tulips fail to be the imagined color.
• Tulips fail to STAY the right color, morphing from pink to - eek! - orange and clashing big-time with their neighbors.

Finally the only thing standing between me and tulip design paradise are the backyard squirrels and y’all remember how I foiled them last year using pepper flakes?  Next year it’ll be perfect.

I’m not even worried that I don’t know which of these two photos accurately depicts the damn flowers, or if they’ll be some other version of blue-purple-pink.  How can they not look great against the backdrop of major dogwood action, minor viburnum action, and a scattering of blooming azaleas?  God, just thinking about spring is making me hot.  You know, gardener hot.

{ 7 comments }

Remember, loyal readers, how excited I was about my latest tulip design when I planted the bulbs last fall?  I believe I said it would be PERFECT, so maybe I should learn something about hubris from this sad story, but gardeners are an excitable bunch and I know you all understand.

The Design:  In between perennials in the front of a sunny border I planted three Single Late tulips, chosen because they bloom after most of my daffs but with the dogwoods and azaleas and because they’re all the same type and presumably would bloom at the same time, a very important factor in tulip design, believe you me.  So from the fine bulb supplier John Scheepers (no cheap pot-luck bulbs from Home Depot, nosiree) I ordered the purple Cum Laude, the "pink" Esther and the "pale yellow" Francoise, for a total of 50. 

Anyway, here’s the border and here’s what popped up.  We’re supposed to see yellow at the bottom, then purple, and pink on top.  First, do you see any purple?  Neither do I.  Or, for that matter, do you see any pink or yellow?  Those Esthers look orangey-red to my eyes and the "pale yellow" sure looks like white.  I know color’s a subjective thing and I may be picking nits, but remember, this was gonna be PERFECT.

But back to the missing purple Cum Laudes, a clear case of trouble in tulipland.  First a photo of Cum Laudes in their tall glory in someone else’s garden, and here’s a shot of what came up instead.  They’re really short rose-colored lily-shaped tulips, probably China Pink.

What Went Wrong?  At first I thought the good folks at Scheepers had sent me the wrong bulbs, but in writing this post I realize I planted China Pinks a few years back and while they’re much shorter this time around, they’re back.  So the mystery is: Where the hell are the tall purple Cum Laudes?  Did they all fail?  Did I just imagine planting them?  And why am I having to deal with yet another failed tulip design when it seemed like I was doing everything right and this just isn’t fair?

{ 4 comments }

Remember last week I showed you some plants with one lone pink tulip popping up from last year’s design?  Well, it looks like they’re back in droves, or drifts to be more accurate, and they’re not supposed to do this.  That’s because I removed all of the foliage as soon as the flowers gave out, which everybody in the hort world will tell you to never do, warning that if the foliage isn’t left to slowly dry up, you won’t have blooms the next year.  My mental retort to these warnings is that there’s no way I’d let such hideous foliage dominate the front of that border for the next two months.  Not a chance. 

So to all the experts of the world, so much more knowledgeable than dirty-handed gardeners like us,  I present last year’s foliage-deprived ‘Pink Impression’ tulips, which classify as Darwins if I’m not mistaken.

And to complete my 1-2 punch in the face of conventional wisdom, I’ll tell you I don’t let my daffodil foliage flop over, either.  You know, we’re warned to not even tie the foliage in a knot in some desperate attempt to hide the long and ugly process of dying.  But when my daff foliage starts to flop, meaning on top of the groundcover - uh-uh, not gonna let that happen.  I tie bunches of them up with twist ‘ems.  They then stand nicely at attention until they’re weak enough to lift.  The daffs have been going strong now for 15 or so years, spreading and blooming their hearts out. 

I probably enjoy doing this too much and have unresolved issues with authority figures. 

{ 6 comments }

The results are in from my 2001 trial of various miniature daffodils (narcissus, if you insist).  For sheer staying power, ‘Jetfire’ is the winner by a mile.  It’s even spreading, so it qualifies as a naturalizing bulb (as opposed to perennializing, meaning returning for several years).  ‘Thalia’ and ‘Tete-a-Tete’ tie for second place, still popping up after five years but in diminishing numbers.  And the varieties that have proven to be short-lived are: ‘Pipit,’ ‘Bell Song,’ ‘Jack Snipe,’ and ‘Hawera,’ and all of the doubles.  None of the contestants received any attention on my part - surely we all have better things to do than pamper our daffodils.

{ 5 comments }