The usual time for forcing bulbs has already passed. In many parts of the country, the real deal is already poking through the ground. Spring and all her requisite beauty will be upon us soon enough. Typically, I do most of my bulb forcing starting in November, when the days are grey and grim, and I need a jolt of hope and the promise of greenery and blooms. That’s what I did late last year, just as the holidays were getting underway. It was a rather piss-poor batch of them though, as if dark forces were stymying their growth. Many buds were stillborn – the saddest thing a plant can do – and a number of bulbs didn’t even bother sending up buds. Sometimes that happens. I’d purchased enough bulbs for several rounds of plantings, but after that initial dismal showing I didn’t have the heart to start over again.
The holidays passed, thankfully, and then the bulk of winter. The days weren’t as harsh as they could have been, and could still be, and at the time I gave in to the darkness at hand, forgetting about the resort the bulbs that were stored on a shelf in the unheated garage. It wasn’t until I painted and needed to do some work requiring tools that I stumbled upon the bulbs again. This late in the game I was surprised to find them with buds of green. Little tiny hints of hope at the edge of winter. Still, I was hesitant. Perhaps too much time had passed. Maybe too much damage had been done. It hadn’t been a particularly brutal winter, but there had been days and stretches of ultra-frigid weather. We just came off a twenty-degree day, for example.
I held their brittle shells in my hands and wondered if it was worth a try. Part of me wanted to throw it all away. My heart had been broken by the first batch already, why should I risk more pain? I felt them in my fingers, pressing into their bodies a bit, trying to decipher if they were still intact, still solid enough to put forth any buds. They felt all right. They still felt substantial. I decided to give them a chance.
Resurrecting the glass container that had housed previous failures, I covered them with gravel and warm water, then placed them by the window in the dining room. Within days they perked up, sending a few straps of leaves into the air, and immediately following that a heavy crop of buds. I don’t know if they will bloom. I had such hope before, only to be left with disappointment and disaster, but I’m hesitantly optimistic. At the very least, there is already the essence of hope. That’s more than some of us ever get these days. The only things to do are wait and gauge their growth and progress, keeping them watered well but not too well. The precarious balance between life and death. For now, there is new life.
