A package of daffodil bulbs is really a bagful of promise and hope.
This morning, I scanned the gardens for the perfect place to plant daffodil bulbs and settled on a small knoll not far from the house.
The Dunkleys brought us a special garden treat when they were here this summer - three bags of incredibly rich mushroom compost. I have been hoarding them for special garden projects. I hauled one over to the planting area and the manure-like aroma was reminiscent of what Valley farm folk used to refer to as "Mary's perfume". It does a gardener's heart good.
I worked the compost into the area, dug out a trench that was a good eight inches deep, applied a few fistfuls of bonemeal and arranged the bulbs about two inches apart. As I worked, I was thinking about Wordsworth and his beloved Lake District with its clouds of daffodils in an English spring. We had visited his birth home, his first house after marrying, and his final home when we were Cumbria and I have to agree with him that it is one of the most heavenly spots on earth.
No comments:
Post a Comment