Last January 28, our first windowsill crocus opened three pale blue blossoms of Crocus biflorus argenteus.
From the time a week earlier when they first appeared, I’d been watching the development of the fascinating zebra-striped purple and cream buds, but the day of their opening took me completely by surprise.
For the night before, in a quick cold snap that lowered temperatures outdoors to 2° degrees Fahrenheit above zero, all six pots of crocus on the unheated sun porch had frozen solid. And when I lined them up against the window at 10 a.m. I mentally kissed them all goodbye.
By noon, however, even before the pot was completely thawed out, the tree blossoms were pushed wide open, their golden stamens bright in the January sun.
The temperature on the porch was 34° degrees Fahrenheit. The temperature outside the window was 11° degrees Fahrenheit. It was a lovely day for a preview of spring!
Variety of Crocuses and Other Flowers
Three weeks later, by the time they were through blooming and the other “frozen” crocuses were blossoming full tilt, the potful of six Crocus biflorus argenteus had produced a total of thirty-one blossoms.
It did not, however, by any means set our local record for blossoming. Half a dozen conns of C. ancryensis did that, producing 65 tiny, very fragrant, bright yellow blossoms over four weeks.
Another crocus, species C. aureus, proved for us the longest-lasting potful of the winter, its half dozen corms opening the first orange-yellow blossom on January 30 and 46 blossoms later—finally finishing its windowsill display on March 20.
All told, by the end of the winter, our thirty-two pots of crocuses, daffodils, tulips, and hyacinths had rewarded us with 585 carefully counted, separately sniffed, and exhaustingly admired flowers.
By itself, this wasn’t a bad return from the $10.40 I had in early summer shipped off to the Holland bulb importer whose catalog I annually admire.
It represented, however, only a small part of my real return, for beginning in the week of April 20—when the first of last year’s forced crocuses were already blossoming in the garden—I started the process of slipping the still-ripening bulbs out of their pots and into tailored-to-size-and-depth holes.
Next year, most of this year’s crop will contribute color to what is rapidly becoming—and all on this double-duty system—a very good spring border.
Benefits of Forcing Bulbs
My methods for forcing bulbs are probably, by professional standards, slipshod. Yet I’ve had no significant failures, and I’ll probably go on in my relatively carefree way.
I order anything that sounds interesting and—because I like variety—anything I’ve never tried before.
Since, at the moment, I’m intrigued by crocus species, dwarf daffodils, and Mendel tulips (by far the easiest forcing tulips, as far as I’m concerned), I always try out new-to-me old (and so inexpensive) varieties in these categories.
By early October, when the shipment arrives, I’ve already cleaned up the pots I’ll need by soaking them overnight in plain water and scrubbing them out with an old scrubbing brush.
My potting soil is a casually assembled heap of what God gives me—a rather poor clay soil, some homemade compost, and a couple of buckets full of fireplace ashes.
I sift this mixture through a 1/2-inch screen, using the siftings— charred wood, stones, rusty nails, etc.—as crocking for the pots. I put the potting soil in loosely, press the bulbs into the soil, and fill in more loose soil around the bulbs.
Because my wife and I both like airy bouquets of bloom rather than a jam of color, I tend to plant relatively few bulbs in a pot—three tulips, say in a 6-inch pot, or a single hyacinth in a 4-inch pot.
By planting this way, I won’t have to separate the bulbs in the spring but simply put the whole contents of the pot directly in the ground without disturbing roots or ripening foliage.
Labeling
I’ve never had a bit of luck labeling pots with wooden labels; labels in my garden always break off.
My method, again, is direct. I use a #1 black pencil and write the name of the bulb on the pot.
Forcing Pit
I’ve learned that, for me, a forcing pit is a lot easier than any other rooting system. I’ve also learned that I must dig deep here in Laconia, New Jersey. Last year—a cold one in most of the East—I found that frost went down more than a foot.
Luckily, I’d dug out a trench 3 pots wide and 18 inches deep. Even then, I had one pot of Mendel tulips (‘Van der Eerden’, a fine red) that froze solid and, in freezing, cracked the pot in half.
My only loss, however, was the pot. When I unearthed the bulbs in midwinter and found the broken pot, I simply tucked the frozen root ball into another 6-inch pot, brought it into the cold cellar, and let nature take its course. The blossoms were beautiful!
I find it easiest to put the bulbs in the forcing pit all at once, either on a thin layer of sand or wood ashes.
At this time, I also water the pots thoroughly, fence them in with stakes (a very important aid in finding the bulbs in winter and in keeping a mulch of leaves on them in windy autumn), cover the whole pit of set-out pots with a thin layer of sand, every bit of the excavated earth and on top of the heap a foot or more of leaves and garden trash.
The blanket of leaves permits one to dig for the bulbs in zero weather.
Because most bulbs need a good long forcing period, I hold off bringing any in until after January 1.
To keep a good supply on hand, I try to bring in eight or nine pots every two weeks, marking the new end of my pit each time with the stakes that had been along the sides and tossing any left-over stakes on top of the leaf blanket for a little extra insulation.
Cold Cellar For Bulbs
We’re lucky to have a good cold cellar, which is where the bulbs go as soon as they come in from the ground. Here, they get watered every few days. They also have to be watched carefully.
Crocus species, for instance, come along very fast— especially if they’re brought in late in February. I brought in one potful of Crocus Erectus Swanberg last February 9 and found it in full bloom four days later—a lovely blue bouquet in the cold cellar!
Normally, of course, I plan to keep the bulbs in the dimly lighted cold cellar (one little window lets in a tiny dab of light) for a couple of weeks, then bring them up to our south-facing unheated sun porch, which, as I’ve already indicated, sometimes gets too cold.
Here, night temperature seldom gets above 40° degrees Fahrenheit, and day temperature—on bright days—goes up to 65° degrees Fahrenheit or so. When the plants bloom, the gale comes down to the living room.
This ritual last winter gave us a steady living room display from January 28 until April 16—and by that time, of course, we could go out in the garden to admire the daffodils that had been part of the forced living room display two years earlier.
Garden Setbacks
Not everything, needless to say, makes the transition to the garden without setback or loss.
We never get a really good second-year bloom on daffodils (though by the third year, they’re fine), and we always— for reasons unknown—lose about half the set-out tulips and hyacinths.
Crocus and grape hyacinth, on the other hand, blossom for us spectacularly well the year after being set out and go on to multiply extravagantly in the following years.
However one looks at it, the double-duty bonus that forced bulbs offer makes them the best garden bargain that can be found. They’re a delight—fragrant and lovely— twice over.
44659 by John Unterecker