Tiptoe Through The Tulips

The tulips are blooming! Two weeks ago I strolled among gorgeous yellow, pink, white, orange and red tulips at Brookside Gardens. Vibrant splashes of color were everywhere; people donned similarly bright clothes (except a trio of twenty-somethings wearing black -- 'They must be from Paris," my daughter mused). Lovely bouquets of tulips have been sprouting in neighbors' yards, even on the lawn of a neighbor with more dandelions than grass.

Last week, my father-in-law gave me two pots of baby Easter tulips (six white, six pink). I gleefully replanted them in a row in front of my house, alternating white and pink flowers. Knowing that the exposure of the tulips' roots to dry air and direct sunlight would shock them, I quickly and gently loosened the bulbs from the potted soil, carefully settled them in pre-dug holes, covered them with dirt and watered them. Stepping back to admire my handiwork, I was pleased to see a line of petite yet stunning tulips standing at attention like sentries guarding my home.

One hour later, my darling tulip soldiers were bent over like they had been punched in the stomach and were throwing up. I hastily watered them again in the hopes of resuscitating them. Much to my relief, the next morning they had straightened back up. However, I noticed that their white and pink petals seemed to be shrinking. I kept watering the tulips religiously but within a few days, the flowers shriveled and fell off while their formerly verdant stems and leaves lost their green hue. In stark contrast to my neighbors' large, robust and colorful tulips, my feeble and dull tulips were disintegrating.

Yes, tulips are still blooming everywhere ... except in front of my house, where a sad row of headless, grayish-brown green stalks poke out of the ground. Maybe those tulip bulbs safely underground will bloom for me next year?