English Emma Blooms

Star of Bethlehem (Ornithogalum umbellatum). They are a bulb plant that pops up in spring, and spread easily, sometimes even aggressively.  They are in my lawn as well but I don't mind as they are beautiful!   Aaron planted them about 25 years ago.   They are part of Aaron I do not mind keeping at my house!

Here are forget-me-nots (Myosotis). I know these are shade-friendly, they self-seed, and they give that soft, woodland feel that I really love.  I have planted some seeds along the new drainage stream. I hope they take!

Allium, an ornamental onion. These are bulbs that come back every year, and they feel structural , tall and very intentional-looking in the garden.  These are probably my favorite and I want to plant more in the fall!

The bright orange cluster flowers are wallflowers (Erysimum). I know they love the sun, have a long bloom time, and act as a strong color anchor in the space.  I would like to grow some more!  They grew from seeds I planted last summer. 

 I have a bulb backbone with the allium and Star of Bethlehem. I have self-seeding spreaders with the forget-me-nots. I also have a color anchor with the wallflowers.

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.

 Oh—and I just ordered bulbs: gladiolas, allium drumsticks, and Dutch iris—100 of each! I’ll plant them in patches of 25. Dr. Cho will get four-fifths, and I’ll keep one-fifth. I’ll plant his where weeds tend to take over to help block that out. I still need to decide where mine will go, but I’ve got a month until they arrive.

 This morning, I am bundled up in my sweatshirt, fluffy pants, and socks, sitting outside with Peanut while the garden greets me. The air is cool, the kind of crispness that reminds me fall is beginning to whisper at the edges.

Yesterday, I worked long hours with the soil, carving out a little stream of daylilies that now runs like a green ribbon away from the house, tracing the line of the hose. I’m proud of it—it feels like I shaped something alive, a small river of beauty that leads the eye outward. With the trees trimmed back, new possibilities have opened: light touches spots that had been shaded for years. Even the bare stretch by the fence, where Chewy once sprinted to the top and trampled everything, now calls out for planting again. It feels like a second chance for that part of the yard, and for me, too.

Of course, the tree crew left their mess—broken bulbs, tire tracks, a forgotten sweatshirt—and even tent worms that slipped past their work. I noticed them while sitting with Toni, sharing spinach curry and stories of our children’s transitions. The worms will be dealt with, just like the rest. I texted the head guy and claimed my authority: I am a master gardener. This garden has taught me persistence, to trust what I see with my own eyes.

Money is tighter now, and I tell myself no bulbs this year. And yet, how could I resist? The cleared space begs to be filled. Each season I’ve planted here, something of my past has surfaced—the Lindt chocolates Dora once sent, the birthdays, the griefs, the comfort of continuity. Even now, flowers bloom where memories ache, and I feel my mother’s birthday close, as though the soil itself remembers with me.

The garden holds all of this: the chatter of friends, the marks of workers, the small losses, the openings for something new. Today, Catherine and I will walk among flowers at the IMA, but I already feel the deepest walk is here—right outside my back door.

 As I garden I unearth bulbs.  These bulbs I am collecting and am going to plant nedt to the back yard staircase.

Directions for Planting Spring-Blooming Bulbs in Indianapolis

1. Timing: Plant bulbs in the fall, between late September and mid-October.

2. Frost Awareness: Ensure bulbs are planted at least 6-8 weeks before the first hard frost.

3. Root Development: This timing helps bulbs develop roots before the ground freezes.

4. Chilling Requirement: Most bulbs need 12-16 weeks of cold temperatures (below 40°F) to bloom in spring.

5. Soil Conditions: Avoid planting in soggy soil to prevent bulb rot.

6. Soil Temperature: Plant when soil temperatures are below 60°F.

7. Final Timing: Try to plant before the ground freezes solid.

8. Mulch: After planting, add a layer of mulch to regulate soil temperature and prevent bulbs from being pushed out by freeze-thaw cycles.