On a recent rainy day, I found myself–not for the first time–flipping through a bulb catalog and being seduced by the gorgeous photos of brilliantly colored and artfully arranged flowers. Because I have ordered bulbs from this company in the past, there was a coupon promising $25 of free bulbs if I ordered $25 of bulbs. Very tempting. But then I remembered that the catalog was designed to take advantage of my spring flower-madness. While it shows much gorgeousness, it glosses over the fact that the bulbs will not arrive until the fall, often during a stretch of terrible weather or at a time when I am unusually busy, and that they will look like bulbs, not visions of springtime loveliness. It makes no mention of how my garden will be an end-of-season mess and I will have neglected to mark or make notes about which bulbs I currently have planted where. But I have faced this catalog before, you see, so I’m onto the wily ways of this spring-drenched siren. I know–I know–that spring-time catalog flipping can very easily lead to me stalking laps around my yard in blustery November weather before plunging in willy-nilly and wedging the new bulbs into a space that may seem illogical and ill-chosen in the light of the following spring.
So, this year, instead of ordering bulbs, I got my scissors and cut that catalog into bright and joyful little pieces. No cold and muddy fingers, no crowded plantings, no delay. Just flowery goodness ready to share immediately.
These fresh specimens have been sent out into the wider world and I’ve laid by a stash of cheerful flowered envelopes that are just waiting for a moment in the sun. In other news, my garden in the dirt is blooming, too. Growing things makes me happy. You?