When we moved into our home a couple of years ago, it needed some work. We ripped out carpet, refinished floors and tiled bathrooms. We painted a few rooms and decorated here and there.

We payed no attention to the outside of the house that first year, except to trim the lawn and bask in the glory of both a front and back yard, after years of apartment living.

The next year, I realized I had 100 square feet of flower beds. I am not kidding. That’s a whole lot of skill, and patience and creativity I just don’t have, folks. Apparently, neither did the previous owners, because they had just planted about a million bulbs all willy-nilly and let them run wild.

After the daffodils, iris and day lilies had moved on for the season, I no longer had 100 sq. ft. of flower beds. I had a  jungle.

I hacked, dug, weeded and pulled up football sized clumps of bulbs, until there was nothing left  in our sandy soil except the worms. I replanted the bulbs in neat rows towards the back of our beds, and my husband gamely planted grass seed to fill in the now 3-foot gap.

We washed our hands of that dirty garden business and waited to see what would happen this spring… And waited. And waited.

The  first determined shoots peered over ground in late winter, but only three daffodils showed their faces. No iris. Only leaves and stems. More jungle.

And then…

She’s a little late. But she will get along fine with the roses.