Forgetting about forcing

Now that I've removed the hyacinth bulbs that have been chilling in the refrigerator since November and have arrayed them in green, amber, purple, and clear glass vases on a silver tray, I'm wondering why I ordered so few bulbs and why of just a single variety.  Where did I think that my head would be in early March? Didn't I remember what cold, grey, gloomy late winter is like in New England? Couldn't I have added a few--or a dozen--more?

I do love how light passes through the jewel-like forcing glasses and is reflected by the tray's mirrored surface. Yes, these vases will eventually look even more lovely with pinky-orange "Gipsy Queen" holding court.  There I go again, forgetting the flowers!

Pride goeth before . . .

That rapidly growing, eager to flower "Royal Velvet" amaryllis that I mentioned in my last post, remember it?  It was the energy-charged plant whose performance was dwarfing its competitor. Well, it burst into bloom with such enthusiasm that the plant catapulted itself on to floor and straight out of its pot.  In the discharge, both flower stems were broken, pollen was smeared everywhere, and the bulb was a mess of bent and crushed greenery.

I did manage to save the flowers. I've never liked cut amaryllises--it seems almost disrespectful to reduce such luscious blossoms to being just another flower in a vase--but in this case, an exception was the only way to go.

The bulb, after trimming and re-potting, still has one more scape.  Those banged up cuts and dents make the sepals look like they came through a bar brawl.  The bulb a feels a little soft and shrunken under its brown tunic--like it's draped in slightly too large clothes--but perhaps that's just a sign of its exhausting recent exercise regimen.

The tall and short of it

This photo could practically be a consumer product test.  The John Scheepers amaryllis bulb on the left was planted in early December.  Two months later, this bulb is just beginning to send up a stalk.  The White Flower Farm bulb on the right was started a couple of weeks later and now looks like it's a couple of weeks away from bloom. Just saying.

 Not too happy at this pint that I purchased all my bulbs for indoor forcing from Scheepers.  Most are chilling in the refrigerator for a few more weeks, so their test will be later this month.

So glad, in the meantime, that I have some more White Flower Farm gift certificates. Next winter will definitely be more floriferous.  

Preserving parkland

Running along the opposite side of our street is a stretch of wooded parkland.  This sliver of open space hosts native plants as well as, yes, some patches of invasives.  At its lowest point, a pond and surrounding wetlands support mallards and other birds. On the far side, the land rises sharply to a train bed.

Recently, our town had to vote on whether to sell a portion of this parkland so that an 18th-century  house could be moved on to it (and then vastly augmented so as to ensure financial feasibility for the developer).  As an abutter to this parkland, the idea of destroying even a single square foot was incomprehensible. Rule one of natural resource management: once open space is lost to development, it is gone forever. (I won't labor all the political back and forth but, in a nutshell, more suitable locations for the preservation of this house have been identified.)

At Town Meeting, where the authorization to sell was debated by the citizens, it was quite revelatory to hear other townspeople say again and again how much they valued this parkland--for its trees, its wildlife, its refreshing green stretch of open space. On voice vote, the potential land sale was overwhelmingly defeated.  Instead, a bike path may be set along the train bed. How wonderful if that project could be combined with a wildlife census and the removal of invasive plants. Anyway, happily, it now looks like this patch of parkland will be preserved for all of our citizens to continue to enjoy.

Winter lawn sports

In the winter, it's something of a New England tradition to create your own backyard skating rink.  Growing up, my husband's family would flood their driveway to make a sheet of ice for testosterone-fueled pick-up hockey games between siblings and cousins. This winter, his brother erected a board and batten rink in the middle of his circular driveway. For the kids, of course. Well, our sloping yard doesn't have level space for skaters, sticks, and pucks, but we do have a small frozen slab in our side yard.  

If the voles and mice that channel paths through the garden this time of year ever decide to take up ice sports, this patch would be the perfect size for their athletic endeavors.

For a brief moment, I can almost see Stuart Little skating between these banks.  Then I remember that he's just a rodent. And rodents are pests.

Our watercourse is simply runoff from the stream that rises further up our hill.  When the ground freezes, the water ices over in the edging ditches along the garden beds and eventually spills on to the lawn.  Over the next few months, the freeze and thaw cycle is not going to be kind to this lawn.  Repairing a mucky patch of dead lawn will probably be on this spring's agenda.  Wonder if Stuart Little ever considered mud-wrestling?