The first summer I lived in my new place my head was full of garden plans. (Along with all the usual things.)
By spring my ideas had become more modest and in line with reality. My garden was shady. The old, elegant oak tree does a great job of shading the windows and easing the load on the air conditioner. It also dictates shade tolerate blooms below those same windows.
Thrifty, I asked around at work. I had a name. But I’d never planted these before. Years and miles away a nice patch of them lived under our lilac bush. I got lucky – sort of.
We have some a co-worker declared. It’s the wrong time of year to transplant. We’re building new steps and they have to go. How many do you want?
The next Monday she brought in a bag, I took it home and dug a hole. I discarded rocks, bits of broken brick, and other bits that discourage plants. I tossed in some purchased topsoil, the roots, and added water. And prayers.
The first few years not much happened. I got some foilage and that was about it. I think it was the third year when they decided it was a good place to put down roots, poke up leaves, and test a few blossoms.
They are spreading underground now. Each spring holds a surprise of how many and where. The delicate, shy white bells never fail to bring a smile to my face.