I got in yesterday to find a complete absence of a note I’d tucked in the door frame before I went out. That could only mean one thing – a delivery driver had picked it up – and I hurried round to the greenhouse, my drop-things-off-when-I’m-not-in place of choice:
My Bulb Order Has Arrived.
And yes, I did try and rip it open with my fingers. YOW. Had to find scissors, thus delaying the process and interrupting it with a little light swearing.
I do like to keep the neighbours entertained. Not shocked, they’re used to me by now.
Revealed: a fine selection, all looking good:
This has always been a slightly tense moment for me. It wasn’t – until the bulb order I had a few years ago from XYZ suppliers, when I opened the box to find that the Fungus Fairy had been enjoying the journey big time. Both the bulbs and the air were blue, but the bulbs were also furry. (I did get a refund, of course, and when I offered to return the mouldering heap the suppliers said ‘ergh, no thank you’, so I felt free to bin them – but I was deeply traumatised, deeply.)
So what have I got? Somehow I resisted the urge to buy everything in stock at Peter Nyssen and have ended up with twenty tulips (Orange Princess and Princess Irene, the colours go so well with the stone of the cottage), fifty narcissi (I know, I know, but they’re late and the meadow’s daff season could do with extending and I need more whites and anyway I only picked/deadheaded 1200 or so this year), thirty alliums (ten each of cernuum, christophii and siculum), five Camassia leichtlinii caerulea, and five lilies (Hiawatha, and I do hope the last two work out).
Now all I need is for the Wicked Weather Witch to join the Fungus Fairy and **** off so I can get them in. I don’t know; the moment I got the box open the clouds gathered and they’ve not really lifted since. Hrumpf.