When your bulbs are still in bags in February

This year, I put the bulbs in the laundry room so I wouldn’t forget to plant them. How could I forget to plant them if I had to walk past them every day to get my underwear? Actually, I don’t “forget” to plant them. I think quite a lot about planting them. I just don’t get around to it.

September feels too early. I’m not done with summer yet—let alone ready to think about next year, for God’s sake. And the late flowers are putting on such a show that I don’t want to wreck the beds. And it’s still downright balmy. It’s got to be a little chilly to plant bulbs, doesn’t it?

Then it’s October. The rains have set in and I want to hole up in the cozy house, drink coffee, and listen to the drizzle. It’s Seattle, after all. And I forgot how burdensome it is to garden in a coat. And my hands are cold. Do I really have to go outside?

Then the Thanksgiving/Christmas whirlwind hits and my bulb guilt has a month off while my holiday guilt kicks in. Plant a bulb now? With all of this decorating and cooking and shopping and festivating to do? Are you kidding me?

Then the lull of late December/early January sets in, which is traditionally when I plant my bulbs. At that point, I’ve procrastinated long enough that panic overrules my commitment aversion. If I hope to see any blooms in spring, I better get those bulbs in the ground pronto, and it doesn’t much matter where … except that this year we had 19 inches of snow and were shoveling trenches for the dogs to go pee. Not a lot of bulb planting going on.

Now it’s February and my bulbs are still in the laundry room. The nice, warm laundry room. I used to keep them in the garage to chill until my planting panic set in. That way, I felt like a heroic gardener instead of a sorry one. See how long I waited to plant those bulbs? And I still got beautiful blooms!

But the garage was fraught with peril. One year, the fat bulbs that I splurged on from a bulb company became delectable, half-gnawed mice snacks. Last year, Mr. Sorry found my bulging Home Depot bags of bulbs in the garage again and tried to thwart the rodents and cover his wife’s sorry ass by putting them in a plastic storage bin that sealed amazingly well and created a veritable terrarium of rotten stink and blue-green mold that probably could’ve cured some third-world diseases. He meant well.

So my bulbs are in the laundry room. Better go throw in a load of whites.