While some of the Midwest is buried in snow and other parts are simply shivering now that the Arctic Air has dropped upon us like a Sumo wrestler, let me share a serendipity.
Last summer I finally eradicated a flower bed that was out of control. I hated this flower bed. First it held an ugly yucca I’d tried for years to destroy, but which kept returning like an evil villain in a DC comic strip. Second, it’s on the edge of the yard where water has to be hauled by hand. Third, difficult to mow around because of the slope and the fence , it was terribly overgrown. Furthermore, rabbits did their best to maw every fresh tulip green. Those they missed never produced flowers anyway. This bed's only redeeming quality was the daffodil display each spring before the trees leafed.
I armed myself with old clothes, gloves, two shovels, a hack saw and determination. I sweated to dig a hole six foot wide by three foot deep, extending (hopefully) under the yucca, which I bagged like an unwanted dead body and hauled to the dump.
Along the way I saved all the bulbs I found. It was amazing how many were there. The tulips hadn’t bloomed because they expended all their energy trying to reach the surface from deep underground. In the mix, were scads of daffodils, crocuses (or croci, if you prefer), and snowdrops. I put them all in the same big blue bin, certain that I could tell which were which the next week when I replanted them. That at least was my intention.
Months later, on an unseasonably warm December day, armed with the hand drill my husband lent me and an attachment that created perfect holes, I set out to plant. Brrrp! Six inches down Drop the bulb. Cover with loose dirt. Easy -peasy. Brrp! Drop! Cover! Repeat.
After planting along four sections of fence, I was thrilled that the drill needed recharging and clouds were spitting blessings, after all, I couldn't be expected to work in the rain. However, the blue bin, like the woman’s oil jar in the Bible, didn’t appear any emptier.
Three months passed. Snow covered the ground. Frost flowers on windows hid the view of wintry weather. My huge blue bin of bulbs, tucked inconveniently in the breezeway to prevent freezing, was filled with spring hopefuls. Every time I passed it lifted my mood to see all the sprouts. It reminds me of that country-western song about how the guy sees the one that got away and thanks God for unanswered prayers. I had never been so glad to have procrastinated in all my life.
God had a plan all along. After a long season of illness, the bin of flowers put a spring in my step. Has there ever been a time procrastination worked in your favor?
This post first appeared last February on another site so in case you're wondering - the fence line was stunning with daffodils later that spring and the following fall I was able to plant the rest. Like a gift that keeps giving, I can hardly wait for the snow and ice to leave and the flowers to bloom again. Happy Spring!