Call me superstitious, but some garden things are best left unsaid. For example, it can be dangerous to look forward to the blooming of t***ps.
I dare not speak their name.
Because the squirrels who, each spring, unceremoniously snap off the heads of the handful of t***ps in my tiny, tiny garden have been at it again.
In fall, we live in terror that squirrels will dig up our newly planted bulbs. Using all the mental might our big human brains, we try to foil them: covering the bulb site with chicken wire; caging the bulbs in baskets; laying flat stones on the soil till the tempting smell of fresh turned earth calms down; sprinkling cayenne pepper on the bulb planting area. Sometimes it works, and we rejoice.
We spend winter in anticipation. Till, hooray, it’s spring! Then, as we get a few fine days, this happens.
And this happens.
And, oh look, over there, this happens. Again.
My garden is strewn with the shredded bodies of partly eaten flowers. But, shhhhhhhh! There are three buds that the squirrels didn’t see. For heaven’s sake, don’t say the word tulips.