It’s a gorgeous day at the farmette - though a tad chilly right now. All the clocks are back on standard time and the cats are once again confused about why the hell humans feel the need to cause this disruption in their daily routines.
It’s also time to plant bulbs. I’m a bit late this year, but am looking forward to a fantastic sunny day with mid-teen weather - perfect for putting on the sweats and getting down and dirty with my flowers.
I’m determined to plump up the daffodil section in the corner under the black walnuts. I’m looking to replicate William Wordsworth’s "host of dancing Daffodils” to make my heart fill with pleasure - worked for him.
Funny, I never used to be a fan of daffs. Always thought they were kind of boring because they’re everywhere. But as I moved into my middle years - and wound up with yards and yards of flower beds - I gained a new appreciation for the narcissus. Plus they look fantastic in a huge bouquet, yes?
In my relentless pursuit of arcane knowledge, I found out that the Greeks associated them with personal vanity (the god Narcissus), grief and death while the Romans thought they could heal wounds - though in reality, they irritate your skin. Explains some things about the two civilizations.
I’ll also be putting in some more red tulips in celebration of Canada’s 150th. This spring the poor things had to put up with a dusting of the white stuff on May 15th - my dodo Pickwick wasn’t impressed either. But that’s the hardy tulip for you.
A friend’s mother loved them and was a talented artist. We were honoured to receive one of her works and now have an Elsie Grose original hanging in a pride of place in our dining room. Beautiful, eh?
Getting back to my fascination with floral lore, in the good old/bad old days of the Turkish empire, the red tulip was revered as a symbol of perfect love. Sounds great, but the story seems more likely to be told today as the zombie movie “Warm Bodies". The macabre myth goes that a Turkish prince who fell in love with a beautiful maid killed himself when he found out she had been killed. The droplets of his blood sprang up as the crimson flowers we know and love today. Yikes.
Finally, I’ll be putting in more of my beloved miniature irises. Funny how, when you plant 25 bulbs they seem to disappear. In my experience, the profusion I was expecting turns into a smattering the next spring. Which is why I’m amping it up this year.
The iris story is especially interesting since its name is derived from the Greek word for rainbow, and there’s even an Iris in the pantheon of Greek gods. She was the messenger between the big guys and gals in the sky and the humans, and was the connector between heaven and earth. It all kind of makes sense when you’re lucky enough to see a rainbow after a storm.
Getting the bulbs in at this time of year kind of feels like I’m mailing myself a fabulous gift that won’t show up until spring. That’s when I will be tickled yellow, red and blue to see them arrive in a blaze of colours.