Planting Baby Bulbs in Winter

Every year it is the same ritual: buy tons of on sale flower bulbs in November, run out of time before the ground freezes, stick them in the refrigerator hoping the ground will thaw, strain eyes while planting bulbs in the January dusk, pray they come up in April.
Some years the thaw doesn’t happen and they turn to dust in their webbed packaging while wintering in my frig. This January blessed us with a couple of 50 degree days and the dozens of daffodils found a home. I don’t recommend this method. It’s messy. It’s cold. It’s back breaking. Once I stumbled into the house, trying not to trash the floors with my dirty Wellingtons, I found them – several packages of unopened Narcissus bulbs, just when I thought I was done. The temptation to throw them away felt justified. My husband hates the smell of these when they bloom. He says they smell like centipedes. What? Do centipedes smell? Like any other reasonable person I put them in the basement frig. hoping to forget about them.images

A couple of days later I noticed their green shoots piercing through the packaging and mercy overwhelmed me. Force them in the house for a spring treat during February, I convinced myself. All the bulbs were generating green shoots but one, who I named little baby A. Our friends are working through a foster care court battle with baby A’s natural parents and for some reason this tough little bulb, full of entrapped, invisible promise reminded me of baby A. Because of her struggle, she earned the right to thrive in a perfectly tailored environment, just for her. I found an old jam jar, filled it to the brim with water and put baby A on top. Within a week the other bulbs were thriving, practically jumping out of their windowsill containers, but Baby A sat dormant. The bottom of the bulb appeared to be rotting. Throwing Baby A out was not an option so I opted for the dramatic, untested experiment.

Taking the thin paper skinned bulb exterior in my hand, I placed Baby A on the cutting board. Grabbing the sharpest knife in the drawer I cut about 1/3 of an inch off the bottom of the bulb and then plunked it back in the water and said a short prayer.

Three days later, Voila! Tiny root nubs bumped their way out of the bottom of the bulb. images-1Today Baby A is showing eight inches of green leaves and the yet to blossom flower is tightly wedged between these nurturing parent leaves, helping the future flower to grow straight and tall. No doubt, if I determined to leave baby A alone and not gone the extra mile, the growth would have stunted at best and perhaps never emerged at all.

Sometimes the most vulnerable, the one you want to discard, the thing that provokes the most attention and effort brings the greatest blessing. Happy planting!images-2

Creatively Capturing Summer

August 1st is the day we become painfully aware that summer is slipping through our fingers. Eager-eyed parents will be staring at me on August 25th Orientation, ready to hear about all of the challenges that their students will take on during the 2016-2017 school year. This leaves only 24 more days to savor the altered pace of summer. So before my calendar is covered in ink, I’m pledging to capture a moment of summer’s beauty in verse, image or prayer each day in order to have a tiny reservoir to draw from when leaves and then snow begin to crunch underfoot.

This idea came to me while reading and sleeping on my porch only to be awakened by a hummingbird zooming by. Details like this are full of beauty and glory, but we often miss them. Translating what strikes our heart chords into a poem or a photo also enables us to remember and hopefully not say, “Did summer even happen this year?” What glory sightings are you encountering this August? Create something that lasts from these moments and tell me about them!

Unknown

Awakened by Humming-

bird. Strumming through air,

shuddering summer beneath

sparkling silver Beech.

Your rumble of sound

enfolded by almighty, precious cielo.

I doze.

“Midnight in Sicily” flopped open

on sunscreen slathered legs.

Single strands of caressed hair

crossing and sticking fast to

sweat beaded face.

Your hum, breaking silence,

miniature freight train,

winged whir and whiz.

Heavenly music, drilling down

into scarlet Dahlia

one by patient one,

600 heartbeats a minute.

God’s alarm clock.

Arise. Summer is singing by.