Every February, when I spot the first brave snowdrop peeking up out of the cold soil, my spirits are lifted and I know spring is on its way.

By March, I’m reminding myself that I have space for a few more daffodils in that corner – or that I must get some pink tulips to add to the array of red and yellow. And then I forget what and where I need to plant them until September or October, when I make a trip to the garden centre.

This year, I arrived there determined to buy just a few more daffodils and one packet of tulips. But when I see the rows and rows of bulbs with colourful pictures, I’m like a child in a toy shop.

Focus

I tried to stay focused as I spotted a lovely pale pink tulip and in the basket it went. But then I also spotted a ‘buy two, get one half price’ sign. Well, it would be foolish not to buy three then, wouldn’t it? Now the basket had three shades of pink tulips.

I’m still determined to leave after I’ve found a packet of daffodils. But hold on a minute – look at those gorgeous little Narcissi! Who could resist bulbs called Cheerfulness, February Gold, Rip van Winkle or Toto? I know I’ll completely forget their names in years to come, but I can always do as my mother did when asked the name of a flower in her garden – she would mutter something vaguely Latin-sounding.

When I spot another sign that says ‘buy three, get one free’, I’m a lost cause completely and I’ve now graduated from a basket to a trolley.

Irish grown daffodil bulbs

By the time I’ve reached the register, I have added several bags of crocuses, a few mini irises and two more bags of snowdrops.

As I’m waiting in line, I spy an enormous display of Irish grown daffodil bulbs in 5kg bags and – being patriotic – I add them to my cart. I won’t mention how much this all came to. Let’s just say I was on bread and water for a few days.

I drove home full of enthusiasm to start planting, but the rain put a halt to my gallop. In fact, it was two weeks before we got a cold, dry October Saturday – perfect for planting. I gathered up the trowel, spade and bulb planter and started to unpack the bulbs. Did I really buy that many? Where am I going to plant them? Where exactly was the gap in the daffodils?

I start with the crocus. With visions of a carpet of purple, yellow and white flowers among the grass, I start to make holes in the lawn to pop them in. Just a note to myself and anyone thinking of doing this: it helps if you mow the grass quite short first. It’s no joke making 100 holes in your lawn when the grass is long.

I needed a tea break before tackling the 5kg of daffodils (which I found out is about 150 bulbs). Unlike the little crocus, you have to bury them deeper. Living in Connemara, every second time I plunge the spade into the ground, it hits a rock. I pretty much have to dig two holes to plant one bulb. By evening I had hardly made a dent in the bag and my back is killing me. I laugh at myself, because this happens every year. My time and energy do not match my ambition when it comes to the garden.

I will eventually get them all planted, though some – like the tulips – may end up quickly planted in pots. All the bulbs will lie under the soil waiting for the first signs of longer, warmer days when they will peep up out of the ground and fill the garden and my heart with colour and joy.

To quote Audrey Hepburn, “To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.”

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