Albert's Greenhouse

There's something magic about bulbs. It's kind of like the magic in seeds - you buy this little dessicated thing for not too much money, and you put it in the ground. Then later, maybe months later, something comes up out of that very same ground, and it's not dessicated and brown - it's alive and green and beautiful.

Bulbs have a certain marketing magic to them as well. In the dead of winter, when everything is dark and damp and not really into growing, the shelves of the nursery are packed with mesh bags carrying pictures of beautiful flowers. How can you not buy just a few of the odder looking things? Or some tulips? Or beautiful scented hyacinth? It's not as if these are as difficult to grow as the things in the seed rack, after all.

But you buy the bulbs and tubers and corms and whatever else, and you think: I will plant these tomorrow. You might think this for several weeks, as it's really quite nasty outside right now, and there are other tasks that might be accomplished inside. Where it's not cold and raining. And then you realize ... that these bulbs ... and tubers and corms ... are sprouting. Prematurely. Inside. And you realize that your investment is going to sprout Right There in the Garage. And you become a little nervous. And you think - maybe tomorrow is not the right time. Maybe today would be better.

There's not a lot of daylight in the winter. But in the waning light, you might go outside and push the little dry things into the earth, quickly, in a place which seems appropriate. Little things like labels are not of paramount importance in the cold and damp and rapidly approaching dark. Getting Them Planted. Saving Their Lives. Saving Your Investment. That's what concerns you at the time.

So in the spring, I watched with curiosity as the green shoots broke soil. Not exactly sure what we have here. Most of them look like Irids of some sort. And there's these grass-like leaves...

But where we first had only leaves, and then buds, we now have flowers, and I can tell that I chose well last winter, and that some of my choices actually survived to flower for me in the first days of spring. Fritillaria was on the package, and searching the web, I appear to have Fritillaria meleagris - the only Fritillaria native to Britain.

More research reveals that there are 100 different kinds, and societies devoted to their upkeep, and colors and shapes and all sorts of Really Cool Stuff. But I just have one this year, and that's enough. The web says they'll be around for many years to come under my weeping cherry, flowering in the spring and multiplying by dividing.

The web also says that Fritillaries have cells with massive amounts of DNA - almost 25x that found in human cells. What this means, nobody seems to know, but if there's ever a DNA shortage, I guess I'll be on the cutting edge of the solution.