It's almost time

How do you know it's Spring? When all you can think about is where your electric drill is and your auger bit--for planting-- then you know it's time. I just found my auger bit on the shelf in the garage and it was like seeing a old friend. My friend. The drill? Well, let's just say that's a loaner friend and comes with a whole lot of instructions from Fred. You'd think I'd never used the thing...don't do this....don't do that...yak, yak yak. So what if I like to rev the motor?? Big deal. Get over it.
Now, if you've never used a drill to plant caladium bulbs, honey, you have just hit the jackpot. I once paid a yardman and his bunch a small fortune to plant 150 of them in 15 minutes (I liketa died) until I saw their drill and auger bit. Hellooooo, Home Depot, and I never did that again.
If you're smart, you'll (Fred will) take a pitch fork and loosen up the ground first, otherwise you are gonna burn through your drill in a heartbeat. Take my word for it on that one, folks... it gets h-o-t and the smoke can be a tad smelly and tends to really piss off some people. Me? Not so much...I just let it cool down while I go fix a glass of tea. Some people aren't as easy going as I am and I even bring those people a glass, too. They still get pissy.....whadaya gonna do.... Just keep plantin'.
I grew up with a yard full of Candidum Jr. or regular, mounds of impatiens in clusters by color, ferns, and other summer bloomers all across our front yard and in the back yard, and then in pots--some hanging and some mounted on the fence by a wrought iron pot holder from Mexico. My dad loved nothing more than to get outside by the pool on a Saturday and Sunday, and plant his pots full of impatiens and water his pots (and drink the occasional beer). OK, not so occasional the beer but whatever. The yard looked beautiful front and back since that was Willie's domain, and dad was just the pots man. When dad got really hot and sweaty, he'd jump in the pool, cool off, and move on to something else. Not a bad way to garden.
Dad always ordered his bulbs from a Florida grower and luckily, as his daughter, I am not that proud. I will buy the bulbs anywhere as I am not that choicey. (Our old housekeeper, Louise White, used to say that and it makes me laugh every time I think about that word. It's just hilarious to me.)
Anywho, I'll be on the prowl for bulbs soon though I never put mine in until mid to late May. According to Dad, you have to use your bone meal at the bottom of the hole, like the Indians taught the Pilgrims with a dead fish, for corn. (Hey...just a little quick history.) The bulbs pointers have to be facing up or you've planted it wrong-- and it will grow down--not up. Just to be factual, Dad never said "pointers"--his word was a little more tacky (probably due to the beer) but you get the gist. No wonder I love doing that stuff. It reminds me of my dad.

P. S. I had a bunny sighting yesterday across the street but it looked like the smaller one. Not sure. But whichever one it was, he's good.