A Bird on the Fence is Worth Three in the Vents

(old Irish proverb)

Atlas enjoying nature – mostly running in circles along the pavers

In three short weeks, I will finally be able to dig into the tub I’ve been hiding in the dark of my garage, push my fingers into the sandy vermiculite I’ve been using to preserve my dahlia tubers, and pluck them out, ready to be replanted in soil that’s been missing them since last autumn.

I grew dahlias, for the first time, the year before last; two small plants produced a handful of blooms and, when they were spent, I forgot all about them and neglected to rescue the tubers before the soil froze in winter.

But last year: from three plants I harvested around a dozen tubers, following a tutorial shared by Floret Flowers. Since then, I have amassed more: three different varieties, purchased from Aldi, provenance unknown (and honestly I’m quite sceptical about how well they’re going to do); three more from Ruby Moon flower farm, up the road in Laotto; four from The Meadows Flowers and Finds in Leo.

I’m also growing some from seed; right now, in my kitchen greenhouse (a bit smelly, I’d recommend from the plant-growing point of view but not if you want your kitchen to smell like anything other than sweaty earth with a slight tinge of mould; it’s hard to get the humidity right in there) I have about 30 different dahlia seedlings, ranging in height from about one to six inches. They tilt forward, towards the window, straining to see the sun, waiting for the day when they’ll be taken outside and put in the ground.

But that day is not today – it’s currently 7C and Accuweather is warning of an overnight low of -1C. I couldn’t do it to them.

Consider this your three-week warning: I am about to start talking about gardening. A lot.

a selection of zinnias (left) and dahlias (right) I grew last year