Ssshhhh... tulips!

Growing tulips in these parts is either an act of 1:folly, or 2: defiance.  1: Folly, in the case of those new to the area who don't realize that deer view tulips after a long winter with the same enthusiasm as a one lost in a desert views an oasis.  Defiance, as in one who believes that their stalwart deer defenses will hold against #1.

We fall into the second camp.  And last Fall I had the crazed fantasy that I could create a symphony of early blossoms without tempting the hooved fates.  In the early spring, I can also hope that there are enough young shoots in the woods to keep the deer otherwise occupied so that they don't notice -- or sniff out -- the temptation that hides on the other side of our meager, but mostly effective, defenses.

Against all odds, I planted 250 tulips bulbs.  Several kinds.  And no, I have no idea what I planted where.  This, despite the fact that I always mean to jot down this information somewhere... and in fact I sometimes actually do, but put it in a location that is unfindable anywhere on my hard drive.  Thankfully, the bulbs remember, and even though spring is cold, and slow in coming, the tulips are here!  And on the front mound, where I planted most of them, they have emerged like sentinels of the new season.

Standing guard all around the front mound

Catching some early Spring sunshine

So the tulips have discovered themselves, but for the life of me, I can't remember what varieties I've planted.  Happily, they do distinguish themselves by color -- it's a rather crude descriptor, and certainly will win me no gardening prizes, but it will have to suffice.

Close up on the yellow and red ones

Rose tulip about to open

And apparently, I've also planted a whole batch of pale violet tulips.  Who knew?!

All these amazing blooms are not only visible to me and to the walkers who exercise along our road, but they must also be visible -- and perhaps smellable -- to the deer who would love nothing better than to reduce them all to itty bitty stumps.  

I wake every morning hoping that a) there are enough tender shoots in the woods to keep Bambi, her friends and family occupied, and b) our defenses will hold... at least until the end of the season when they always... inevitably... relentlessly... breach them and eat all the hosta.


In the meantime, I'll continue to document and share their progress; the first of in a succession of perennials I insist on growing that do not appear on the "deer resistant lists."   
Just for the record, hellebores are on that list and are, in fact, poisonous.  But that didn't stop the deer from eating the hellebores we planted outside our fence last year.  And since they subsequently did breach our defenses in the desperation of Fall and eat every single hosta, it clearly didn't kill them.  Proof that they definitely do not read those lists, and the only thing that works is constant vigilance. Excuse me while I go patrol the perimeter.

Andromeda

PS.  While patrolling the perimeter, I noticed that the Andromeda are also in glorious, full bloom.  Here's a sample of the garlands that adorn them, as they ring the very top of the hill behind our gardens like a coral reef come ashore.  

Close up on the Andromeda galaxy

 


One of the nicest things about Andromeda is that it's an early spring bloom that sticks around for quite a long time.  But even more attractive is the fact that it's something that even the hungriest deer will never, ever eat!