Little Experiment

I planted my amaryllis bulbs yesterday. These are the bulbs that I got last year. For the first time, I tried keeping the same bulbs for a second year. After they finished blooming I kept them growing in their pots until warm weather arrived. When it was warm enough I planted the bulbs outside and let them grow in the summer sunlight. Then in late summer I brought the bulbs into our basement to sit in the cool dark of our basement storeroom until now.

Little Experiment

Re-using these bulbs is a little experiment that I hope will yield beautiful blossoms for a second year. It seems such a shame to buy the bulbs, watch them bloom and then throw them into the compost. Why not see if I can get them to bloom again? Though marketers teach us that all things are disposable and easily replaceable, that simply is not true. We all need to develop habits of thinking about what we can reuse or repurpose.

“As we explore new ways of thinking, we need to be willing to investigate, experiment, take some risks with our attention, and stretch.”
― Sharon Salzberg, Real Love: The Art of Mindful Connection

Last year I had trouble with the amaryllis bulbs toppling over when the blossoms fully opened and became top-heavy. So I replaced two of the small plastic pots I had used then with ceramic pots that are larger and heavier. Hopefully I will have no more tipping plants to deal with.

I found a beautiful small begonia plant on sale for half price at Bachman’s and couldn’t help bringing it home. The last begonia plant I had, which was a gift from a friend, went into my summer flower beds to bloom again. I wonder if I can keep this one thriving until it’s warm enough next spring to set it out in my flower garden.

It’s so bright it almost glows. I am going to enjoy photographing this lovely beauty. These are just a few shots I made hand-holding my camera because I couldn’t wait to photograph the plant. Later today I’ll pull out my tripod and backgrounds and work on seeing it’s beauty from different focal lengths and distances.

Finally, here’s a lovely poem that I enjoyed reading recently…

Bird Feeder

Approaching seventy, she learns to live,

at last. She realizes she has not

accomplished half of what she struggled for,

that she surrendered too many battles

and seldom celebrated those she won.

Approaching seventy, she learns to live

without ambition: a calm lake face, not

a train bound for success and glory. For

the first time, she relaxes her hands on the

controls, leans back to watch the coming end.

Asked, she’d tell you her life is made out of

the things she didn’t do, as much as the

things she did do. Did she sing a love song?

Approaching seventy, she learns to live

without wanting much more than the light in

the catbird window seat where, watching the

voracious fist-sized tweets, she hums along.

   — Marilyn Nelson

I feel as if she wrote this poem about me. I hum along with joy as I watch the birds flutter at the feeders just outside my office window, even on a cloudy, cold, blustery, sometimes snowy November day.

May you walk in beauty.

Oh, and wish me luck with my little amaryllis experiment. I hope to report lots of flowers in late December and January.

Amaryllis in bloom last winter

Another amaryllis from last winter