Thursday, October 25, 2012

October Surprise

or Things to Remember

A lot can be forgotten in a year:  the names and terms of all the US presidents;* the capital of Mauritania;* what that one key in the utility drawer belongs to.  Some things are a relief to forget; some are more or less irrelevant (not meaning any offense, presidents and Mauritanians); some are kind of a nuisance (what does that key belong to?).  Some, though, end up being unexpected pleasures.  My favorite things to forget every year are the fall-blooming crocuses, because they have such charming ways of recalling themselves to your attention.


Well, really, just the one way.  They bloom.  But that's pretty charming.  It's a pity we can't do that ourselves when we need someone's attention—so much more appealing than "Ahem."

I've grown two kinds of FBC's before, Crocus speciosus and C. sativusC. sativus is the saffron crocus.  Its flowers aren't spectacular, really, but they're perfectly attractive, even more so since you can conjure up imaginary sauces while you look at them.  They have the pleasant habit of blooming in November, though they're fickle and may decide not to bloom at all.  They also have the unpleasant habit of sending up their leaves ahead of time and hanging on to them until April or later.  Six months of leaves outweigh the brief days of bloom, I find; since the sauces have so far all stayed imaginary, growing the flowers for a tiny amount of saffron doesn't seem all that exciting, either.  All the sativus I planted last fall, except for a few sly, eely ones that got away, were dug up in the spring.  They're hanging out in pots these days, putting up leaves, and later they will be whisked off into a corner with the black widows for the winter.

We're not talking about C. sativus, though.  They aren't much of a surprise, what with the leaves letting you know that they're coming and all.  The ones that do surprise me every year are the speciosus crocuses.  The flowers come out of nowhere, it seems, since the leaves don't appear until spring.  I returned from vacation a couple of weeks ago to find a small group basking merrily in the sunshine. 


I wasn't even waiting for them this year, not even in some tucked-away, undusted little alcove of my brain; I really had forgotten all about them.  The crocuses are looking a little lost there among the greenery, but the flowers do seem to stand up better with other plants' support.  I'm not just saying that as gardener's "spin"—a white-washing way of not admitting that I had forgotten about them and planted other things in their spot.  I did forget about them.  Completely.  They're just better off that way.

Since then other crocuses in various small patches have been blooming, with one or two new flowers opening a day.  The fall-bloomers have an idiosyncratic character and appeal, separate from their beauty, blossoming as they do out of sync with the season and with the rest of their kind. They're like little floral post-it notes with reminders written all over them, and the reminders are all of pleasant things—starting with the fact of their own existence.


They also remind you of ephemerality—a little bit of a jolt, when autumn is only slowly moving along, and the other things still in flower are the kinds that bloom for months on end and still have weeks ahead of them (Go, 'Wild Thing' autumn sage!).  In their own gentle way the crocuses suggest that you might want to pay attention to each day's changes as the year wanes.

They remind you of the joys to be found in bulbs and corms, which is handy, since a box of 500 ipheion, scilla, muscari, and sundry just arrived on the doorstep, and someone is going to have to plant them.  How nice to have a little inspiration blooming at the same time.

They remind you that bees have favorites, too, and that all those blackfoot daisies and marigolds and the licorice mint and basil and sage are fine in their way, but crocus pollen is Something Else Entirely. 

They remind you to keep an ear out for the sandhill cranes' return.   (Almost right on cue a creaky purr resounds, and you see outstretched wings glinting in the sun as a family of cranes rides the thermals down the Rio Grande valley.)

They remind you not to fuss too much about color combinations in your garden, because Mother Nature sure doesn't.


They remind you that short-term fragility and long-term toughness can go hand in hand.  The flowers will be gone in another few days.  I will forget about them soon after, and the bulbs won't get any water or fertilizer or special attention.

And they'll be back next year with an October surprise.
___________________
* I've never actually known this.**
** That I recall.

16 comments:

  1. An absolutely fabulous post Stacie - surely one of your best?! Love your comment about these being like a little floral Post-It note!

    It's a while since I've grown them but now you've got me thinking..... I'm sure there must be a perfect spot here somewhere!

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    1. I'm so glad you enjoyed this one, Karen! Thank you.

      It's surprising how hard it is to find a perfect spot for the fall bloomers. At least the spring crocuses grow in empty spots where things haven't begun to grow back in yet, but in autumn all the good sunny spots are still taken by other things.

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  2. I rarely pay attention to plants that only bloom for a few days - but you have made me realize the folly of that. To have long blooming roses, repeat blooming irises (yes, still blooming in my garden), and salvias that are a seemingly constant companion are not enough. I need a few plants that only bloom for a brief period of time. So that I can appreciate each day even more, and each miracle in the garden. Thanks for the reminder.

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    1. Holley, I normally prefer the long-bloomers, too, but I do think there's a place for the things you look forward to and cherish for a few short days or weeks--like we used to do when cherries were only local, and only in season in June.

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  3. had to keep pausing, and read each paragraph twice. Once to see what your new post said, then twice to enjoy your own way of saying it.

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    1. Diana, thank you! I suppose when your own way of saying things is perfectly normal inside your own head, you don't think it's anything special. I'm glad you enjoy it!

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  4. Because my own garden may soon be a building site it is an embarrassing expanse of neglect. I really miss just walking slowly about, after work with a mug of tea, and looking and seeing. I don't really have time for that at work though certain flowers might stop me in my tracks - as I'm on my way to the compost bins. I'm not sure these fleeting crocuses would even be noticed at the Priory but that first photo alone is enough to make me want to plant some October surprise. D p.s. I hope you've planted the 500?

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    1. Dave, those moments of moseying around the garden with a cuppa are the best--I'm sorry that the building project (exciting though it is!) is getting in the way. I suppose you could plant the FBC's for a bit of a surprise/pick-me-up in one of the beds at the Priory that you're busy trimming back--but then you'd also have something fragile to work around and protect, when you really just want to start raking or something. Tricky.
      Buying all those bulbs seemed like SUCH a good idea in July. 200 done.

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  5. So you managed to sneak in another post about crocuses ...
    I've never written "I exist!" on a post-it note, but it sounds like a good idea.

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    1. You never know when a crocus post will happen. Such a fruitful topic.

      "I exist!" on a post-it note: very helpful on a Monday morning, I find.

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  6. I agree with Karen - this is a particularly enjoyable, thought-provoking post. And I love the idea of the flowers' blooms being a beautiful way of saying "Ahem" ... and reminding us of their existence. As you say, if only people had such a quietly lovely way of achieving the same thing.

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    1. Thank you, Jill. I have to say, as Election Day draws nearer here in the US, I wish blooming was the candidates' preferred way of getting our attention!

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  7. I just realized as b-a-g said you just did another crocus post :). I adore the fall crocus but cannot grow the saffron ones. But the others are such fun to see peeking out in October. Mine are still going even with the freeze we had. I am so enamored with them that I will have to remember to plant even more. Your images are intoxicating. I actually am backward as I know the blooms are coming in October, but when the foliage appears in spring, I have to remind myself that there are no blooms as I think, 'what the heck is this flower'.

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    1. Oh, that's funny about the foliage, Donna! Most of my fall bloomers are planted in about the same place as various spring crocuses (not on purpose--I just don't have that many planting places), so I always just assume that the leaves belong to the spring ones. I hope some of your crocuses are still waiting to come up and give you a little cheer after this week's deluge! I've been looking at the Brent & Becky's catalog and thinking about how to stretch out the fall crocus season a little longer--they have one kind that blooms in December...

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  8. your photos prove that if you were very very small these flowers would be quite spectacular. wouldn't it be nice to be that tiny in a garden -- just for a few minutes -- to see a crocus as big as your head ...

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  9. Hi Stacy, we were given C. Sativus as a present two years ago. The first year they came up really well. The next year we didn't have a single flower but lots of leaf. After another miserably cool and wet summer, we've had the same again - but with just one single flower - although we missed that too since we were on holiday! It is supposed to be possible to grow saffron here and indeed, there is a village close by called Saffron Walden for it. I think I need to take more care over the summer baking it needs to encourage it to flower but I am getting a bit short on patience.

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