The Happy Patch

Daffodils asleep.

I never really PLAN on planting spring bulbs. Instead, it’s generally a spontaneous act instigated by a walk through the local hardware store en route to something entirely different. Then I see them - bins of bulbs reduced to half price, and I succumb every time. It’s usually after Thanksgiving when this occurs and snow is in the forecast, and I anxiously wonder whether the ground is too cold already for planting anything.

 “I’ll need something to perk me up in the springtime,” I said to myself recently while sorting through  an assortment of daffodil bulbs. The sun is awfully shy in the late of winter in central Ohio, preferring instead to huddle behind an interminable cover of cloud for days on end. It affects me badly when I miss the golden rays for too long, and I often succumb to a late winter malaise.

“I need a patch I can see from my window,” I continued, as I arrived home, bulbs in hand, and scanned the yard for a place to plant them. We do have spring flowers in our yard, but they are meant for the neighbors and passers-by, as they grow within feet of our house and cannot be seen from my own office window.

But the view of the yard from my window is rather limited, and I struggled to find a location for a new patch of flowers. The roots of the tree dominating the yard would not allow a cluster of daffodils nearby. And digging in a new bed along the walkway was too much work, and besides - they’d look too formal lined up along its edge. The only other space available was smack-dab in the center of the lawn, which didn’t exactly work aesthetically.

“Do you mind if I plant them in the middle of the yard?” I asked my partner hesitantly. “Of course not. Plant them anywhere you want!” she answered enthusiastically. Aesthetics rarely concern her, and sometimes that’s a helpful thing!

I grabbed a shovel from the garage and proceeded to dig a circular hole in the middle of the lawn and within line sight of my office window. “I’ll call it The Happy Patch,” I said to myself, pressing the bulbs into the chilly earth.

And that’s what it will be. One morning in the late and gray of winter I’ll peer from my window and there they’ll be – bright yellow beacons bursting gaily onto the weary landscape. I’ll smile, and together we’ll swing and sway in the breezy spring and dance the sun to life again!