A couple of years back my mother-in-law gave me the best present ever – a gift voucher from a bulb supplier. In this case, Marcus Harvey’s Hillview Rare Plants.
I can’t decide if it’s just a matter of association, but I love the look of bulbs. I’m not talking about the flowers (though I love those too), I’m talking about the bulbs themselves. I love the feel of them. The weight of them. The texture of them.
One of the truly great, anticipation-charged moments in the garden year looms. The first of the bulb catalogues has appeared. What’s on offer are brown, flaky, often ugly or even grotesque little packages of life, very nearly guaranteed to alchemically transform into big, fat, glorious flowers of unsurpassable colour. They’re horticultural hand-grenades, or floral fireworks, totally unprepossessing and deceptively inactive, until they explode.
Driving to a clients place a few years back, I was all but blinded by this outrageous garden en route, bursting at the seams with Gladiolus dalenii. I had to stop and take some pics.
I’m supposed to be doing that promised final post on meadows. But I want to shoot off on a short tangent just cos its current, and if I don’t do it now the moment will have passed.
I was just in the Netherlands at tulip time. It was, of course, mind boggling. I’m convinced that no flower beats the tulip for being just as compelling as an individual as it is en masse.