Chris Palmer
Uncle Sandy’s return to his hometown of West Kilbride, after fifty years in Canada, was a surprising success. Though in his late eighties, and now a widower, he looked up old friends with whom he had kept good meaningful contact, and soon had a busy, new social life. Church, bridge and sport on television, kept him going, and he was five minutes from his daughter’s home. He had a comfortable flat, with a reliable lift, overlooking the sea, and had much to be thankful for. I had, however, visited him in his stunning home in Canada where his garden was his pride and joy. I knew how much he was missing it. The changing seasons were a constant topic of conversation. Could I do anything to help, I wondered, as I surveyed his modest-sized balcony last autumn.
Uncle Sandy loves Italian food, and it was during a regular weekend lunch, with the Lambrusco flowing, as he recounted his stories of his life abroad, that it came to me – a spring bulb lasagne. What could be better?
It was mid-November when I set about preparing it. With the cost of newly bought spring bulbs increasing significantly in recent years, I had resolved to dig up a large number of bulbs in May and June when the flowering was over and store them in readiness for the following autumn. They were placed in shelving in an old shed, dry and cool. I never thought to check up on them, assuming they were safe, and complimenting myself on my thrift. On returning to collect them a few months later I found a bulb massacre.
Using a car analogy, I consider tulips to be the Rolls-Royce of garden bulbs, hyacinths are down the range slightly, maybe a Lexus, whereas daffodils, snowdrops and muscari are the mid-range saloon car, dependable and ubiquitous.
My prized and expensive tulip and hyacinth bulbs were all gone, with just a few fragments left. Daffodils, snowdrops and muscari were safe. The finger of suspicion pointed towards little rodents for whom I had unwittingly laid on a buffet meal and they had proved to be gourmets. I occasionally see a field mouse or shrew but have never thought about their culinary habits. My research established that indeed mice and voles are very partial to certain bulbs, whether stored or actually in the ground. Another lesson learned.
I found some comfort from the prevalence of well-nourished mice and voles in our garden. They themselves are part of nature’s food chain. As autumn moved into winter, we heard an owl hooting happily across the road from our house. I like to think that its hoots include a measure of thanks to us for fattening up its evening meal. I subsequently remembered many years ago that my father-in-law recommended that I store bulbs in old tights and hang them up in our garage. This year I have tried that approach but will keep an eye on them in case any mice are keen climbers.
Back to Uncle Sandy’s bulb lasagne. Having bought more tulip bulbs, I set about preparing it. The process is simple. I take a large garden pot, with a good drainage hole, and place some broken pieces of pottery in the bottom to ensure the hole doesn’t get clogged up. I then add the first layer of peat-free compost, at least a few inches in depth. I then plant my favourite tulip bulbs, maybe as much as a foot from the eventual surface of the pot. I add another layer of compost and then place daffodils or narcissi, in the usual spacing. Finally, I add a third layer of compost, before planting my favourite crocus bulbs, covering them with a final layer of compost, finishing the job with a sprinkling of horticultural grit. If you are in any doubt, there are many YouTube videos demonstrating the process.
There is something optimistic and hopeful about planting bulbs in the autumn in readiness for spring. The beauty of the above process is that in February the crocus flowers will peep out, my favourite being bright yellow. As they die, the daffodil or narcissi plants will be shooting past them, and in a typical Ayrshire winter/early spring will start to flower in March. Finally, as those plants wither, the tulips, the tallest of the three layers, will emerge and flower in April. All in one single pot. Uncle Sandy described it as the gift that keeps on giving. It brightens up his day for several months. So much pleasure from a few plants.
There are other ways that plants, and the rhythms of planting them and awaiting their emergence can help us, and how we feel about our lives.
A good number of years ago, after university, our son was about to leave to work for a charity in Uganda. It was early autumn. His plan was to fly to Africa and work for several months and then spend Christmas with his aunt and uncle in South Africa. In the New Year he would fly to Australia to travel. As my wife and I drove him to the railway station to get the train to London, it seemed an ambitious and dangerous undertaking. He seemed so young to be doing all this.
We drove home, struggling to find words to match our emotions. We would not see him for six months. I had some spare crocus bulbs. I dug out an area in our lawn close to the kitchen, lifting the grass and planted the bulbs, placing the turf back on top. I knew then that in the following early spring, when the flowers emerged, it would not be long before we saw him again. It was my way of making some sense of the time that would have to pass. When the first tips of the crocus flowers appeared in late January, I knew the end of the lengthy period without him was in sight. When they were in full flower, that bright yellow and blue gave me hope we would be seeing him very again soon.
With the end of November approaching, and Christmas less than a month away, some readers may be thinking of gifts for family members or friends who have an interest in gardening. I do not buy gardening books, but I am very fortunate in having kind people who often buy them for me. I would like to take this opportunity to recommend two useful books that I have received in the past twelve months. Firstly, Gardeners’ World Almanac: A Month-By-Month Guide To Your Gardening Year (£16.99 BBC Books). This is a very readable and informative guide to the gardening year with many useful tips. A smaller book, but possibly a reliable stocking filler is The National Trust Gardener’s Almanac 2025 by Greg Loades (£9.99). This is slightly more whimsical but still with timely advice, inspiration and engaging trivia.
Both of the above books celebrate the diverse seasons in the garden. For most of us now, the garden has been put to bed. It will not be long, however, before new life emerges. I can’t wait for 2025, is it the same for you?
