I gave myself a little pat on the back when, back in April, I managed to organize myself and plant some bulbs.
I imagined that come August/September, my true Martha Stewart self would be rewarded with flourishing pots of beautiful daffodils, freesias and hyacinths.
I smiled to myself when I saw those little green shoots pushing their way through the soil.
The mere thought of spring, longer, warmer days and...somewhere in the not too distant future, summer, spurred me on. I cheered on those brave little bulbs.
Except that, the next time I went to check on them, something was not quite right.
What was that protruding from the soil? And why was everything dug up?
How he had managed to 'plant' his bone in a gigantic pot twice as tall as he is, I have no idea.
But there it was, in all its mould-ridden, smelly glory, poking up in the middle.
The bulbs were all over the show, growing down into the pot I think.
What's more, my Plan B, the 'other' bulb pot, was showing obvious signs of not enough water.
No more nice green shoots. A lot of brown.
Spring was not looking so hopeful after all.
Martha was a failure.
But thankfully, all is not lost.
I love those pots of pre-sprouted bulbs that one can buy at the market.
A quick transfer into one's rustic olive tin, and 'voila', it looks as though one has spent much much much time and effort with her hyacinth bulbs in the back of a dark cupboard.
Except she didn't! Five minutes with her tin and her potting mix was about all it took.
I think even Martha would approve.
Oh, and I have salvaged as many of the original bulbs as I could.
They're on their merry way again - spring will just be a little later.