…and fifty other projects, all at the same time.

In a brilliant piece of marketing, Brecks always sends out their pre-season sale catalog right at the time all the spring bulbs are blooming.  They also send a “spend twenty-five bucks, get twenty five bucks free” coupon that is hard to resist.

I don’t resist it.  Every spring, I pore through that catalog and spend my fifty bucks and then some (with the shipping, it’s never less than forty even with the coupon).  I go in cycles–this year tulips, last year daffodils.  A few hyacinths and some odd little wild pink alliums.

Then, around this time of year, I get a strange little shipping confimation e-mail and remember what I did.  By that time, I have totally forgotten what I ordered.  But they come, and I plant them, and I have forgotten again by spring what it is I planted until it starts to bloom.

I love it.

But the other problem with the spring order fall receipt is that occasionally I will send off for some collection of bulbs with silly names that give no indication of their color palate.  Sitting on my desk is such a collection: the “Forever Spring” tulip collection, with three varieties called, “All That Jazz,” “Light and Dreamy,” and “Life’s a Cabernet.”

I can sort of guess that that “Light and Dreamy” might be a pale hue, and that “Cabernet” is some shade of purple.  But I have no recollection of ordering this collection, or where I thought I was going to put it.  Should it go in with the pale pink tulips by the front step?  Maybe out by the sidewalk with the purple butterfly bush and anise hyssop (and the already-planted light pink alliums and hot pink hardy gladiolus)?

In the end, this is the sort of conundrum that, as conundrums go, is more fun than frustration.  Along with all the other projects I’m working on in the home gardens these days–working on the raised bed, moving this plant here and that plant there, ripping out huge handsful of vinca and tossing it in a pile down the hill (where it’ll likely re-root)–finding a spot for the bulbs is like an impromptu game of hide-and-seek.

Or rather, seek-and-hide: once I’ve sought and found spots for all these bright blooming lovelies, they’ll be tucked away under 4 or 6 inches of soil until they burst out of hiding to cheer the arrival of spring.

Ready or not, here I come!


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