The Cottage Smallholder

For years I used to be a bit sniffy about miniature bulbs until I was given some, maybe six years ago. They blossomed indoors on my kitchen windowsill. This was the start of a short affair.

I planted them beside a treasured shrub near the back door and they multiplied. I noticed them very early each spring because they flowered long before the traditional daffodils in the garden.

Then, after three years, they vanished. After a while I forgot all about miniature daffodils.

After Christmas, I spotted a load of mixed bulbs that I had dug up during a garden project last summer. They had been chucked into a large box for replanting and forgotten. Spare time was at a premium all last year and my attention was drawn by more pressing jobs.

I rediscovered them on a chilly, rainy January day and was surprised to see that they were sprouting and full of vim and vigour. In the mix there were small daffodil bulbs. I couldn’t work out whether these were immature traditional daffodil bulbs or relations of the lost miniatures.

Although it was entirely the wrong time to be planting spring bulbs (autumn is best), I popped handfuls of the mixed bulbs into any pot that had some space. I felt a strange combination of guilt and relief. The bulbs had been knocking about since June and had survived on account of the mild winter. A traditional gardener would have been horrified at my laziness. I didn’t mention that my behaviour was outlandish to Danny who smiled encouragingly from the warmth of the kitchen.

My mother says that bulbs survive on their own nutrients, so all hope was not lost.

Here is our first daffodil. It’s a miniature, barely 3 inches tall. I checked the other pots and we have fifteen tiny daffodils in bud and the promise of more.