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A Message From Katie
Last summer, my son Tim, his wife Sylvia, Brian and I went to the Anglesey Agricultural Show and as we strolled around we saw a large tent advertising Lincolnshire bulbs.
Immediately, Sylvia and I made a beeline for it since we are both keen gardeners, and the men made a beeline away from it (probably to the nearest beer-tent). It was fascinating, every possible bulb including a great many that neither of us had even heard of, were displayed.
We looked and marvelled and staggered out an hour later, carrier bags causing us to list heavily to port. The salesman had given us explicit instructions as to how his bounty should be treated and we could talk of nothing else. But early November was the earliest we could start planting due to our visit to Oz, and the weather was both cold and wet and kneeling on the soaking ground digging holes was not exactly a high treat.
But somehow we did it! Sylvia did most of the planting, she is a jewel of20a daughter-in-law, and I tried to remember which bulbs needed a sunny spot, which thrived in shade, and which needed space for their huge flowers. It is just possible that I got muddled – the summer seemed years ago – but we got them all in, and we began to examine the soil for signs of rarities.
But first came snowdrops, then other lovely but ordinary native species. I waited eagerly, but then came days and days of rain and Sylvia went back to her Spanish home and I bought a tube of something soothing to rub on rheumaticky knees. No sign yet of interesting blossoms rearing their heads, just more snowdrops, which I was sure I’d not planted. Daffodil spears and crocuses appeared above the puddles but there wasn’t an exotic in sight. I told myself that anticipation is just as much fun as fulfilment, and if my rare bulbs don’t put in an appearance this year, next spring the garden will be a mass of blossom. Bound to be, honest!
All best wishes, Katie