Sprouts

4 09 2020

© Cindy Dyer. All rights reserved.

As soon as I saw this jumble of sprouted bulbs (still in the bag on the potting bench), I immediately thought of these lyrics by my beloved John Denver:

I want to live I want to grow
I want to see I want to know
I want to share what I can give
I want to be I want to live

I *think* these are iris bulbs. Or very tiny gladiola bulbs. The label was now rendered illegible due to the rain. I ordered them online, and while I planted everything else, I left these on the bench, intending to find a place for them later. Then the rains came. And came. And came. When there wasn’t rain, I watered the garden daily, never seeing these still on the bench. Just now, I glanced over and saw some tall green stalks on the bench. Whaaaaaa? The little bulbs had sprouted; every single one of them! They were poking through the holes in the bag, roots entangling. The roots even went through the bag and had attached themselves to my gardening gloves.

I sat at the patio table and cut them free from the bag and found a home for them in the garden.


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One response

4 09 2020
Sue Cummings

Awe, where there’s a will, there’s a way. Bless their little roots and bless you for putting them in their home.

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