Superman Tulips

For me, Fall has always meant putting the summer garden to bed, and digging in tulips, daffodils and hyacinths for early spring color. On a recent trip to Amsterdam, I made a point of visiting the Keukenhof Gardens.  The elaborate landscapes and colorful beds of tulips were magnificent and inspirational. Years ago, when my thumb was its darkest green, I planted bushels of bulbs grown in Holland every October. Now when autumn whistles in, or when I glimpse mass plantings of tulips, I chuckle to myself. Not because I miss the rigorous process of selecting and planting bulbs, but because of something that happened decades ago when my tulips woke from their wintry slumber.

Farming is in my blood. While I did not grow up harvesting corn, I have always had a garden, which has varied in size and scale depending on the size of my yard. The Dutch tulip catalogues were like gold to me in those peak gardening years. I’d dog-ear the pages, circle my favorites, then pop my order in the mail.  When October rolled in, packets of bulbs found their way from the garage and into my yard for planting.

It was while I lived in an old Victorian on the main street of Hinsdale that tulips produced the memory I am going to share. The flower borders in my compact front yard were full and flourishing, so I expanded my scope.  The concrete driveway to the right of the house needed sprucing up. In order to soften the edges of the hardscape, I envisioned a vibrant wave of spring color. Tulips! Scouring my catalogues, I ordered early and late blooming bulbs in a range of stem heights and colors. When autumn arrived and the kids were in school, I donned my elbow length gardening gloves and dug in neat rows of tulips along the driveway by the neighbor’s fence. I placed markers in the mounds of soil so in the spring I’d know what varieties bloomed.  

Once the winter snow cover melted, I began to monitor the progress of my driveway bulbs.  By April, green sprouts emerged from the mulch and regular spring rains produced stems, sturdy and strong. The vibrant oranges, dazzling pinks, and gripping purples were staged to open with the next warm-up.

I remember that I was standing at the kitchen sink when I spied my preschooler escape the fenced in yard with our old collie.  Even though it was close to ten in the morning, my son was still in his favorite Superman pajamas. Some days it wasn’t worth the hassle to get him changed out of those. I do not recall if the Velcro cape was attached, but I suspect it was on the family room carpet.  Sometimes as you fly around the house mimicking your idols a cape can get in the way.

Before I could make it to the back door, my son had picked up a stick from the driveway.  Before I could skip down the back steps, my angel had karate chopped the first row of tulips.  Before I unlatched the gate, he was on to the second row. Before he lifted the weapon for the assault on the final grouping, I swatted the stick from his pudgy fist. He had been so dedicated to the superhero task of taking out the enemy in Mommy’s driveway that he hadn’t heard my loud and vicious protests.

As I came to a gasping standstill, my boy’s chubby cheeks glistened with tears.  He’d been battling good and evil with his dog. My tirade had scared him silly. I realized at once my error.  I hadn’t warned my son about how important it was to his mommy to see all the flowers open their colorful faces. I hadn’t asked him to leave them alone. I hadn’t thought to do so. I had simply planted my bulbs in the fall and waited for spring to do its magic.  

I looked at the shorn flowers, and at my son’s sorrowful face. I said, “Go ahead.  Finish the job. Make sure you get all the bad guys.” As my budding superhero completed his mission, I reasoned that a fully shorn garden was more appealing from the curb than a spotty hatchet job.

I loved the tulips at Keukenhoff, and my pleasure was multi-faceted. I enjoyed the unusual varieties, colors and textures, the showy scale of the garden, and the way pockets of bulbs enhanced mature spring beds. The Holland tulips brought back with vivid reality that scene in my driveway. The morning when my son annihilated the enemy with the swat of a stick.  Fall is a special time to prepare for winter and to plan for spring growth, and it is a time to remember. While gardens make us happy, memories make us happiest.