Editor’s note: The Daffodil and Tulip Festival at Naumkeag returns for its 3rd year, April 22 – May 17. Tickets are available at the Naumkeag web site.
Despite our love for native plants and our focus on regenerative and sustainable gardening, I must confess an enduring fondness for a class of plants that mainly sit outside of this category. I am happy to see that the staff of Naumkeag agrees with me, and given the vigorous advance ticket sales for their third annual Daffodil and Tulip Festival, we are not alone in loving these spring-blooming geophytes.
Geophyte is the technical term for bulbs and other plants that store their carbohydrates underground in bulbs, corms or tubers. There are many that are native to the U.S. — camassias, claytonia, and trout lilies come to mind — and these certainly warrant consideration in the landscape as well. But whether it is nostalgia, or just the sheer flower power of tulips and daffodils — the same power that culminated in Tulipomania in the Netherlands of the 17th century, a craze that nearly caused the collapse of the Dutch economy until the government intervened — there are few bulbs that make us swoon (and sign up in advance to view them) as much as tulips and daffodils. Although bulb speculation nearly destroyed their economy in the 17th century, the Dutch to this day are largely responsible for the array of varieties of daffodils and tulips on the market. I remember a visit one spring to the Keukenhof outside of Amsterdam where Dutch bulb growers plant millions of bulbs for public display each year and thinking it was like a visit to Oz. It was overwhelming, but a closer look at the individual varieties snapped me out of the Technicolor haze and helped me see the beauty of each flower.
Although Naumkeag has planted heavily, their display is nothing on the scale of the Keukenhof, and visitors can take it all in and also find time to look more closely at the individual flowers. I have a fondness for white-petaled narcissus with pink or soft yellow trumpets, but I know that the more traditional all-yellow varieties enjoy a big following. And whereas I personally love small species tulips, I know that there are plenty of fans of the larger bicolor and fringed varieties that take us back to those great Dutch still-life paintings of the 17th century. Our new beagle, Henry, who has the serious countenance of an accountant, has a fondness for minor bulbs, particularly the small reticulate irises that dot our garden. It may be their deep purple tones, or soft scent, or perhaps that they are at just the right height for him to view. But whatever it is, this lovely creature who looks as if he could have provided sound financial advice to the Dutch in the 17th century, also succumbs to the beauty of these foreign geophytes. Although Henry cannot visit the festival at Naumkeag, the gardeners there have included an array of minor bulbs as well, so everyone, from accountants to showgirls, will find something to love there.
The garden at Naumkeag, which was designed by landscape architect Fletcher Steele for Mabel Choate, seems like the ideal setting for these bulbs; its curving lines and modernist geometries would undulate along with the waves of daffodils and tulips. Steele loved color and color blocking, and he loved planting in masses, and I can only imagine what he would have done with bulbs on such a scale. He often specified so many plants for an area that I could not imagine how they would have all fit into the space allotted to them, although bulbs can often be packed in tightly in a manner which would have satisfied Steele. Perhaps Steele in time would have filled the curvilinear rose beds that Mabel could see from her bedroom with tulips of every shade. However, as the garden is historic and these plants were not a part of Steele’s design, the bulbs are planted outside of the formal areas surrounding the house. The good news is that this allows the foliage of the daffodils to mature and replenish the energy stores of the bulbs before they are cut back. The tulips are replanted each year. I cannot say for sure, but I think Steele would be happy to see the garden come alive this spring and, like the many visitors to the garden, he too would fall under the spell of these bewitching bulbs.
But just like Dutch and their 17th century mania, this fever shall pass. We will regain our composure. And, as the season progresses, we will take the time to appreciate some of the more subtle geophytes. The green foliage of the camassia in my garden, poking up gently as the soil warms, assures me that a calmer moment will come, but in the meantime I am in over my head.
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A gardener grows through observation, experimentation, and learning from the failures, triumphs, and hard work of oneself and others. In this sense, all gardeners are self-taught, while at the same time intrinsically connected to a tradition and a community that finds satisfaction through working the soil and sharing their experiences with one another. This column explores those relationships and how we learn about the world around us from plants and our fellow gardeners.
