English Emma Blooms

Dutch Iris

Every few years, when the clumps get crowded, I need to divide my Dutch iris. Late summer to early fall—August or September—is the best time here in Indianapolis, after the foliage has fully died back. I let the leaves yellow naturally so the bulbs can pull their energy back in. Then I lift the clumps gently with a garden fork, separate the bulbs and any offsets, and throw out anything shriveled, mushy, or rotted. I can either replant them right away about four inches deep or store them somewhere cool and dry until I'm ready.

Gladiolus

Gladiolus are a little different because the mother corm dies after blooming. I’m supposed to divide them every year, usually after the first frost in late October or early November, when the foliage browns. When I dig them up, I cut the foliage down to about an inch. I’ll find the dried-up mother corm to toss, the new corm or two that I'll replant, and smaller cormlets I can keep growing. The healthy corms need to cure for about a week in a cool, dry spot before I store them in paper or mesh bags or in something like peat moss or sawdust, at around 40–50°F in the dark. Then I plant them again in the spring, after the frost danger has passed.

What I Noticed in My Own Yard

Even though the general advice says gladiolus won’t survive winters in Zone 6, mine come back every other year. That tells me my conditions must be helping them overwinter. They might be deeper in the ground than most people plant them, or maybe leaves and mulch are protecting them. It’s also possible that new cormlets are maturing and coming up in place of the old ones. I could also have a hardier strain, or maybe they’re tucked into a warmer microclimate without me even realizing it.

Because they’ve returned in my yard, I feel better about planting them in the fall—especially in the same spots where I’ve seen them survive. To give them the best chance, I’ll plant them six to eight inches deep, mulch with leaves after the ground freezes, and avoid spots that get too wet.

What I’m Taking Forward

The “rules” may say one thing, but my garden keeps showing me what actually works. My Dutch iris will go on their usual fall schedule. And even though most people in my zone dig up gladiolus for winter, mine have already proven they can handle being left in the ground—at least in certain areas. I’m going to work with the conditions I already know are successful and trust the evidence I’ve seen with my own eyes.

My new bulbs arrived, and I’m so excited to plant them! I think I’ll wait until after October 4 to put them in the ground. For now, they’re tucked safely in a box in the refrigerator, just waiting for their time.

One evening this week, I also need to head over to Dr. Cho’s to trim the lilacs and do a bit more work in his garden. I’m leaning toward Friday night—there’s nothing else going on then. It will be nice to spend some quiet time outside, get the work done, then come home, take a long shower, and settle in with a good movie.

There’s something comforting about this rhythm—gardening, caring for plants, making plans, and then rewarding myself with rest. It feels like a reminder that balance is possible: a little work, a little care for others, and then time to recharge in my own cozy space.

I woke up with allergies in the night and again this morning. I should probably take a Benadryl, even though it makes me feel like a zombie—but I need my energy for the garden this weekend. The grass in the front and back yards is begging to be mowed, and there are plants that need attention. Maybe I’ll even find time to work on my paintings.

The squirrels are loud this morning, chattering and rustling through the trees. I hope they don’t leave a surprise on me again! The birds are noisy too, their songs mixing with the rustle of leaves and the soft hum of the wind. I love how slowing down makes me notice these details. I used to walk in Broad Ripple, moving quickly past everything, but for the last couple of years I’ve stayed in the park with Chewy. I see the trees’ bark textures, the way the light hits each branch, and even notice familiar faces. The park feels alive and intimate now, not just a path I pass through.

Gardening feels different this year, too. The recent limb trimming has opened the backyard, letting sunlight spill into areas that were once shaded. The patch by the gate now basks in morning sun, and I think I might finally grow something there. The creeping Charlie is still making its rounds, but I feel like I’m gaining the upper hand. I remember battling clover years ago—now it’s gone. Gardens come in waves; patience is key.

I picked up some baby onions at Walmart and plan to plant more whenever I move other plants around. I’m imagining a spring bulb bed: Dutch iris with deep violet petals, day lilies opening in soft gold, gladiolus in striking pinks and reds. Perhaps I’ll order some for myself and some for Dr. Cho. Later in the season, daffodils will trumpet cheerful yellow among the green, alliums will rise like little fireworks, and iris will add elegant purples and blues.

I can almost see the ultimate bulb garden: daffodils, alliums, Dutch iris, iris, gladiolus, and day lilies all blooming together in waves of color and texture. It’s ambitious, but I think I can make it happen. Gardening isn’t just work—it’s a way to watch life unfold slowly. Each sprout, bloom, and fallen leaf reminds me to notice, to nurture, and to find beauty in patience.

How Does Your Garden Grow

How does your garden grow…
With daisies and coneflowers,
Peonies
And daylilies,
Laestra,
Black-eyed Susans…

And gladioli all in a row.