Iris

My birthday is later this week; on Thursday my sister comes to town to help me celebrate.  But there's no reason to confine the celebrations to just one day, so I'm stretching things out and planning a little treat for each day this week.

On Sunday, I celebrated by planting some iris bulbs. 

These bulbs are the descendants of bulbs that belonged to my great grandmother and were grown on her farm in Missouri.  My father and and my brother-in-law kept them alive in their own gardens and this fall  my father brought some my way.  I waited until this week to plant them and on Sunday, I dug a nice big hole and set them in the ground to winter over.  They're in a spot by my biggest patch of hostas, where they can enjoy spring sunshine and some protection from the wind.  The soil here drains well, which should also make for happy iris bulbs.  I mulched the new bulbs and moved my garden "grow" sign to this corner, to help me remember that the bulbs are here.  And to provide a little spiritual support for them come spring.

I always enjoy my garden; plants are my way of finding a little hope in a world in which I sometimes feel left out.  These plants, the inheritance of generations of gardeners in my family, will be particularly welcomed in my garden, both for the past they represent and the hope for the future they offer.