I thought I’d waited too late.

When the paper bag with the picture of cheery tulips on the front tumbled off my pantry shelf late last October, the appropriate season for bulb-planting had passed. Snow and freezing temperatures—the first of a surely long Colorado winter–had been predicted for that night. The bulbs, papered bits falling out of their partial-mesh package, had been forgotten after they’d been put away.

I glanced out the window at the gathering darkness, then back at the bag on my floor. Surely the ground out there was hard.   Since we’d only moved in a few months before, I had no idea if it had ever been amended with compost, or whether the area would drain well. Surely it was too late, now? Surely it would be a waste of time to find a shovel in the dark.

 

 

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