Sometimes Monday ...

 ... is a day to check on my hyacinth's progress. 

Lots of roots, the stems are coming up, and hopefully, I'll have buds and blossoms soon. 

And look, a bonus geranium bud, too!

Here's hoping there is something good happening in your world this Monday!

Sometimes Monday ...

 ... is the day to start 2023 off right by inviting some fragrant flowers inside. 

Way back at the beginning of September I was patting myself on the back for remembering to buy myself some hyacinth bulbs while I accompanied John on another boring trip to Home Depot. I did put them in the extra refrigerator to chill, and now I'm patting myself on the back once again for remembering to get them out and start the forcing process. 

I've collected six forcing vases over the years, and since I'm anxious to get some flowers going, I started three of the bulbs. It's really simple: just put water into the vase to just below the basal plate of the bulb. This is where you'll see the roots start to form, usually within a week or so. Mine are currently in an unheated mud porch where they get indirect light and cooler temperatures. When the buds start to appear and green up a bit, I'll bring them into the house and give them more direct light. And hopefully, within 8-10 weeks, I'll have lovely hyacinth blossoms. 

You can force other bulbs besides hyacinths, and you don't need special forcing vases. You can use gravel, soil, or really anything that keeps your bulbs out of the water so they don't get moldy. 

I personally think some of the antique forcing vases are lovely, like this cobalt blue one on eBay. And maybe someday I'll even get myself an acorn-forcing vase or two.

Here's hoping you have something blooming in your house before spring! 

That Stinks!

Every year at about this time I get a little bit sad. When I go into Home Depot for plumbing parts and see all the paperwhite bulbs,

or page through the Whiteflower farms catalog and see their selection of paperwhites.

You might be wondering why I don't just get some and force them for their sweet little flowers and delightful scent. The answer is that John thinks they smell like cat pee.

I had forced paperwhite bulbs when I was in high school and wanted to continue when I moved to Florida after college. I bought some (that John and I couldn't really afford), placed them in a bowl with stones and water, and happily waited for blossoms. When they did bloom, John walked into the apartment and asked, "What stinks?" I had always found paperwhites' scent delicate and lovely, so how was it possible that they smelled like cat pee to John? It turns out that it's due to a chemical called indole. It's produced naturally by paperwhites and also gardenias, jasmine, tuberose, and orange flowers. Not everyone likes the smell of indole – especially in large amounts. It's found in other things: fecal matter, decaying animals, body odor, and even in vegetables such as broccoli and kale. (So paperwhites might sound less attractive to me.)

Some varieties of paperwhite (the ones whose flowers are more yellow than white like Grand Soleil D’Or and Wintersun) are supposed to have less indole and therefore a lighter and sweeter smell. I've never tried them; most often the bulbs you see at Home Depot or even in the grocery store are from the subspecies Ziva which is high in indole and therefore stinky to some people.

So I'm content to have a beautiful Thanksgiving cactus blooming, a geranium blossoming on the windowsill, and hyacinth bulbs chilling in the refrigerator to force later this year. But sadly, no stinky cat pee flowers are grown here. 

Advice From a Sunflower

Be bright, sunny, and positive. Spread seeds of happiness. Rise, shine, and hold your head high! 

(I don't always follow this advice myself, but we could all use a reminder now and then.)

Poetry on Friday

I came across this poem recently and it reminded me of my mother-in-law. I do the same sort of paring down with bouquets, and I'm sure many of you do also, so I'm sharing this poem with you today. 

Bouquet 
by Tadeusz Dąbrowski

Paulina, the gardener's daughter, cares

about flowers doomed to die.

If I bring her a bouquet, she frees it

from the ribbons and gently places it in the hospice 

of a vase. When the flowers weaken, she trims their stems

and plucks off their wilting leaves. She takes

the dead ones to the compost, from the rest

she forms a new bouquet. Thus disappear in turn:

poppies, anemones, carnations, damnations, and

forget-me-nots, until finally all that's left are

gypsophila and Judas' pennies. Paulina,

the gardener's daughter, sees a bouquet in the vase

even when it's not there anymore.

====

Translated from the Polish by Antonia Lloyd-Jones

You can read more about the poet here.

====

I wish you mindfulness, peace, flowers and bouquets along with some poetry as the week winds down. 

At Last!

I've wanted to see something blooming for quite a while now. I have a few leftover Christmas cactus blossoms, and I bought a miniature rose at the grocery store just for the flowers. But after several days of warm temperatures last week, I finally got my wish. 

Crocus just coming up (alongside a squirrel-chewed antler)

Crocus in an ivy bed (that needs to be cleaned out)

Crocus at the base of our big oak tree

Close-up crocus

And a little bunch of snowdrops

We're back to more seasonable temperatures now, but that's okay. I've seen the signs that spring is definitely on the way, and I have a snowdrop on my windowsill to remind me.

Flowers ...

... are magical, on Monday and every day.

This past weekend I was blessed with lots of flowers blooming indoors.

 One amaryllis,

a second amaryllis,

a completely unexpected bonus Christmas cactus blossom,

and some hot pink Easter cactus blooms. 

I said a little thank you each time I passed them for my fulsomeness of flowers! I hope you also enjoyed something a little bit magical in your weekend. 

Hope

I've got snowdrops blooming and I wanted to share this photo of the one I couldn't resist picking and bringing inside for a preview of spring. Have a happy weekend with plenty of hope for spring!

Sometimes Monday ...

... is a day for little surprises in the form of little purple flowers. 

I have a collection of "purloined plants" on my kitchen windowsill in MD, small cuttings that I've come across and stuck in water in mason jars. Some of these are from my SiL, and the others come from overgrown plants in community planters along the streets in NJ and MD. At the end of the summer season, many of the plants have grown leggy, long enough to drag on the sidewalk, and I know that they'll die and be thrown away after the first frost. I rescue a few cuttings at this stage and bring them home to bring me joy while I do the dishes. Sometimes they bloom early and make me even happier!

I hope your week is off to a bloomin' good start!

Through the Years

I saved my amaryllis bulbs from last year, but haven't started any of them this year. I may do that this weekend when I'm once again in NJ, but for now, I'm taking a look back at some of the stellar floral displays from years past.

There were too many outstanding ones for me to choose between them, so you get a bunch. I've got four or five bulbs resting in my root cellar, but of course, I didn't label them, so they'll be a surprise. Now I'm anxious to get home and start them all!

Sometimes Monday ...

... is a beautiful day despite the very gloomy, gray, rainy, and dreary weather. I haven't been in MD for two weeks, so I was delighted to be greeted by my Christmas cactus when I stepped into the "plant room".

My SiL divided hers (it was twice as big as this one) and gave me half last year. I put it in what I hoped was a good location, and it looks like the plant has been happy with its new home. I'm so glad I didn't miss the show.

  

 Flowers are indeed magical!

Sometimes Monday ...

... is for blossoms, 

buds,

and more to come!

Be sure to join us for the Read With Us book discussion - Week 3 - over at Carole's tomorrow!  

If Bees Are Few

We are bees then; our honey is language. ~ Robert Bly

Maybe humans are not exactly bees, but we do depend on them. During a recent visit to the library I was pleased to find If Bees Are Few left on a table, and I sat down to read it. It's an anthology of bee poetry edited by James Lenfestey. It was published to call attention to the many threats that bees are up against, such as colony collapse disorder, the varroa mite, insecticides, and a reduction in food sources. 

The title comes from an Emily Dickinson poem To Make A Prairie:

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

Pablo Neruda's evocative Ode to Bees is included:

Multitude of bees!
in and out of the
crimson, the blue,
the yellow,
of the softest
softness in the world;
you tumble
headlong
into a corolla
to conduct your business,
and emerge
wearing a golden suit
and quantities of
yellow boots.

Some of the entries are more poetic than others, like this short and to-the-point entry from Sherman Alexie:

The bees are gone. 
We need new bees 
Or we are fucked.

If you happen to come across this lovely volume of accessible poetry, it may well "bee" worth your while. (Sorry, I just couldn't resist.)

Heirloom Flowers Are Magical

I was overjoyed to see blossoms on this clematis this year, mainly because it's a pretty special one. It's not an exceptional color, or even a very profuse bloomer, but it was John's grandmother's. By my calculations that makes the vine about 90 years old.

I've moved it three times in the fifteen years that I've had it, but I think I've finally found the perfect location. It has started to bloom and grow fairly well since the last move, and after seeing the flowers this year, it's staying put.

I was concerned because a lot of it died last winter and I had to carefully remove quite a bit this spring, but after some new mulch, a bit of tender loving care, and encouragement, I've been rewarded with more flowers than it's ever had before.

The flowers start out a deep shade of purple when they first open, gradually fading to a slightly lighter shade of lavender. Even after the flowers begin to look a bit bedraggled, I still love the seed heads. They remind me of little exploding fireworks!

Thanks to Mom-mom for her heirloom clematis, still providing magic even after 90 years. I think of her and her green thumb every time I look at it.

Flowers on Friday

I thought it would be nice to plant a few sunflowers around the perimeter of the garden. The flowers are enjoyable, and I really like having the seed heads for the birds in the fall. Because there are so many different types of sunflowers, I read the seed packet carefully (or so I thought) and chose a dwarf variety that grew to about four feet tall.

 I think I misread.

The flowers are pretty, but these have shot up to eight or even ten feet tall. 

The petals are different shades of red and yellow. I would cut a few, but I can't reach them! I haven't seen any sign of seed heads yet, so I don't know if they will show up later or not. I think I will need a saw to cut them down in the fall because the stems are quite woody and thick. 

It's kind of nice to go out in the back yard and see the sunflowers towering over everything, even if they aren't what I thought I was planting. I guess flowers are magical!