Pretty pictures: Tulipa NOIDs

The forced bulbs march onward, I guess. Last year we tried forcing some of our own, not entirely on purpose (I forget what the deal was -- some unsold bulbs that got temporarily stashed somewhere and forgotten, that we went ahead and planted anyway?), and they didn't work out so well. I think I planted them too deeply, and maybe they also didn't get quite the full extent of the cold treatment that they wanted. They didn't open, or they opened before they emerged all the way, or I don't really remember what all went wrong. I just know it didn't work out so well. It's sometimes better for us to let the suppliers do the work.


I like tulips. They were one of the few outdoor plants my mom bothered with, when I last lived at home with them, is part of it, but I think I'd like them anyway. Don't know what it is exactly. It's sort of mysterious to me, what exactly the appeal is.


After all, I'm very clear about why I don't like certain other flowers. A lot of them look like they're trying too hard. A thousand petals, every variety rufflier than the next, six different colors at once, bizarre shapes, as big as your fist, as big as your head, as big as a beach ball -- tulips never look like they're overcompensating for anything. Which is reassuring sometimes.


Not that a person needs a reason to like a particular flower. (It's more the case that one needs a reason not to.) There's just something particularly attractive to me about tulips.