Friggin' tulips

Pardon my French.

BUT.

Friggin' tulips. And daffodils. And grape hyacinthe. I hate you all.

Let me explain.

Late last fall, the Wonderfully Patient Spouse (WPS) and I planted at least 50 tulip, daffodil and grape hyacinthe bulbs. After living through Bermtopia's Mother of All Winters the previous year, we wanted color in the backyard. And we wanted it NOW. Starting late March-early April, please and thank you.

And now, after a mercifully mild winter, spring is springing. I see crocus, tulips and daffodils sneaking up in other folks' flowerbeds. I've got violets, hyacinthe and Siberian iris on the rise in the front yard. But has one flippin' tulip, daffodil, or grape hyacinthe planted last fall made an appearance in the back? The answer is a big fat NO.

(And please don't remind me the hyacinthe and Siberian iris in my front yard are bulbs . They're aberrations of their species. Devil children. That's all I can tell you.)

Oh, I know I rhapsodized about the early appearance of a plucky grape hyacinthe in an earlier post, "Optimism." Silly me. I now think the little bastard is simply a blade grass. I hope somebody eats you -- or uses you for a nest.

The WPS theorizes the squirrels picked them off throughout the winter. Puh-leeze. All 50 or so? I think not. Instead, I believe this is clearly a case of BBs -- Belligerent Bulbs.

I hate bulbs. Always have. I hate the way they shrivel up and stick around into an eternity of early summer, supposedly "storing nutrients" before they go dorment. Go. Away. I hate the way their petals fall off -- one at a time. Pathetic. I hate the way they flop in a vase after a day or two. Get some spine, would you?

Come to think of it, I am at a loss as to why we planted bulbs last fall. Perhaps I was lulled into horticultural complacency after a particularly delightful summer growing pumpkins, perennials and thousands of grape tomatoes. Perhaps I was overly confident that this time -- THIS TIME -- I found magic bulbs that would burst from ground in rapturous bounty on cue March 15. Or perhaps, already anticipating the need for a little bit of life and color after a dead, gray winter, I forgot how much I hate bulbs.

My daphne can't come soon enough.

Friggin' tulips.