On bulbs, and looking to the future

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Much of the modern world is linear. We can't escape it, it seems inevitable, but a place where we can be cyclical and take comfort in that is in the garden. 

Take, for example, the fact that it is autumn, going on winter. As I write, it's 5pm and it's fully dark outside. I've got taper candles flickering on the dining table, a bottle of red open and breathing ready for dinner (sausage stew), and the boiler is clicking on to warm me for the evening. But I'm already thinking of spring. With gardens, you can time-travel to two seasons away, setting things up for future you to enjoy. Life in the garden is cyclical, and we know that another trip around the sun means the same patterns. Sowing, planting, growing, harvesting - it's the ultimate comfort. 

Bulbs are great for this. It's November, and planting bulbs feels like the most hopeful thing you can do while hollow, garish Christmas ads play on the tv encouraging us to buy new crap to replace the perfectly functioning crap we already have at home. Planting bulbs is saying: yes, it's cold now - but think of what's to come. Life is coming. 

I've planted allium bulbs in great swathes in both beds and pots, and in large pots I've planted tulip bulbs - white and black - in formations to hopefully create some showstopping scenes in my front garden. I also have fritillaria meleagris to plant this week, a birthday gift from my sister. Their majestic, jester-reminiscent checkerboard shapes are truly a brilliant work of nature. They always remind me of my nephew, around three years old, exclaiming, "I love your snake flowers!" I've sprinkled wherever I've planted bulbs with chilli flakes not to adorn them with a festive flourish, but to ward off the resident squirrels in my garden from digging them up.  

Bulbs are a great, cheap way of forward planning. They're simple to plant and forget about, and come spring, when we see those first little green bird-beaks of shoots coming up through the earth, it's a feeling of great accomplishment. 

If it sounds like I'm wishing time away, forgive me, it's not about that. It's simply about looking forward to things. Spring is when life breathes into gardens again. And during these dark days, especially on overcast ones when it doesn't seem to be light past two in the afternoon, it's perfectly ok to daydream about what's to come. 

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