We were planting bulbs this weekend. With the usual imprecations: ‘O God, why did we order so many bulbs?’, etc. etc. But I had a definite plan: the bank along the side of the lake is white with snowdrops in the spring, while the bank along the side of the driveway (the house is built into the side of a hill; flat ground is achieved only by terracing) is mauve with crocus. I am devoted to the snowdrops (less so to the crocus) but what I really like best of all in the spring is flashes of intense blue. Accordingly, the professor and I have created drifts and patches of scillas and grape hyacinth. We may be in for a few surprises, since in the gathering gloom I planted a number of allium schubertii here and there under the impression that they were a bag of muscari, but if they take, and I don’t see why they shouldn’t, they will add a touch of the unexpected. It has all been a great deal of trouble, but strolling by the side of the lake is an almost daily pleasure. I look forward to my squills.

3 Responses to “Hope”

  1. Will Says:

    Here in the Shallow South, most of our David Austin roses are presently flowering one or two blossoms. Even common Lavatera and Kiftsgate which we keep trying to murder (and which have come back to haunt us) are producing flowers. This could be a permanently flowering Trandescant Knot garden with chav potential. I take solace in the fact that the Romans were wine producing in York.

  2. jill Says:

    A poem by the Sara Teasdale refers to that under used word squills.
    How many million Aprils came Before I ever knew How a white cherry bough could be, A bed of squills, how blue!…

  3. carol Says:

    Heading north (-ish) to mum’s tomorrow, in the full knowledge that the garden is still a-brimming with lettuce. The clement weather may be one thing, but Doris has a salad off-switch about the middle of October, which nothing can apparently reset.

    Ho! for further soup experiments.

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