Ok so yeah, I cannot feel my fingers right now. Well, at least I could not about 20 minutes ago when I finally finished digging my way to China all for the name of beauty. What was I doing out in the cold and the wind? I was planting my bulbs of course. I am a bit late this year, but it has been such a warm year so far that I did not want to chance putting them in the ground too early when the soil was too warm. Now I am paying for that hesitance in losing the tips of at least 4 fingers…well maybe only 1.
Bulbs here in the Midwest can be tricky. The winters are tough on them, and the deer and squirrels are even worse. Then once you see the promise of that perfect red tulip bloom just cracking some color and you have a sneak snow storm, and the bloom just falls apart. It’s enough to break your heart, or stop planting bulbs altogether. Well not me. Stupidity, or just plain stubbornness aside, I am still outside during the first winter storm of the season planting my hope for spring. Over the years I have gotten smarter about what I plant, and where though. That is my concession. Honestly I keep the tulips to a minimum because they are just deer fodder here. My other solution is to plant tulip bulbs that are just starting to leaf out in the spring. I only plant them in spots where I know I have the best soil that can easily be dug through when everything else is frozen.
But back to fall. So if I am not planting tulips, then what am I planting? I plant hordes of daffodils, crocus, snowdrops, bluebells, alliums and of course my favorite hyacinths. These are all bulbs that take very little effort from me to thrive and survive each year. Tulips can get fussy around these parts. I like natural patches of these spring beauties so I try and make sure to give them plenty of space to spread wherever I start a small patch of them. And when I do start a patch, I do not just plant 1 bulb, I plant 11. Odd numbers are planted, to create the impression or framework of a drift already. I am trying to mimic nature in this instance. I am also trying to work around what perennials will be blooming, or at least starting to grow when those bulbs are doing their thing. I plant apricot colored tulips (some of the few I do plant) close to my purple leaved Heucheras for stellar color contrast. I plant drifts of daffodils and alliums near my ornamental grasses because they will be chopped back and bare looking. This way the bulbs will take their place until then grasses fill in again. I plant a few tall drumstick alliums near my peonies and behind some of my roses so that lovely, tall awkward shape creates a dramatic backdrop for my budding perennials. Think of your bulbs like they are being planted under high power lines. Pay attention to what is above them at that time of year when they are blooming. Don’t forget either that if you want bulbs to come back the next year, the leaves have to die naturally. It can be a long drawn out process. Early blooming perennials like Dianthus, primroses, violets and pasque flowers are all ones I steer clear of planting bulbs near. I do not want to take away from their beauty. Nor do I want dying foliage after the bulbs bloom to mar the vista.
So back to my frozen fingers… I confess that I have bought every single bulb planting tool known to man and gardener. Japanese ones, English ones, motorized ones. The list is endless. Honestly I still go back to using my thin but deep hand trowel each year. Usually it is called a transplanting trowel. It is capable of digging deep enough to settle most bulbs into their new homes, and I can just open up a pocket of space, shove the bulb in without moving the trowel and then close it all down tight after adding some bone and blood meal to the hole for some extra pep. My general rule of thumb is to plant the bulb 3 times as deep as it is long. Tulips and daffodils are planted around 6-8 inches deep. Snowdrops, crocus, and bluebells are tiny little things. It is almost easier to just scrape back a patch of soil down about 3-4 inches, and scatter your smaller bulbs around, rather than trying to dig individual holes. Set all your bulbs in place, sprinkle some bone meal and blood meal over your newest additions and then cover with soil. In the spring you will have a riot of color there. This strip mining planting technique works well if you want to plant a whole drift of larger bulbs as well. You just have to remove the soil down to a deeper level. I try to make sure that I pat the soil back into place very firmly or else those bulbs will just an awfully tasty snack for some innocent chipmunk.
There is no deterrent when planting bulbs that is 100% effective. People swear by everything from cayenne pepper in the hole with their bulbs to planting under chicken wire. If all my woodland visitors want my bulbs that badly, my theory is let them have them, because there are a lot more of them than me, and I will just focus on plants other than bulbs. It’s not worth the fight. Other options are to put them in containers, and move those containers into a prominent location once they are starting to push up their blooms. I have found this to be a super easy way around it. I plant the containers, and put them out near the shed, and cover the top with some heavy, but fine gauge chicken wire. That gets weighted down with bricks, or other unused pots over the winter. Early in spring, I head out and un-pile the containers, and watch for signs of life. The containers don’t have to be deep, or fancy. I use old nursery pots. Once they start blooming, no one cares what the container looks like (at least in this instance with bulbs being the shiny objects they are). Once they are done blooming I toss them back behind the shed to slowly die back. Or I throw out the bulbs if I want to not have the hassle for next year. That way I can change my color scheme each year.
Bulbs can be fun, and a low-cost, long-term investment that puts a smile on your face each year. Who does not see the daffodil of the season open up and have a smile on their face? They are impossible to resist, and easy with the right bit of planning.
