In a normal year, early to mid-June offers the first chance to cut back the unsightly spring bulb foliage that has been sitting there throughout May with all the appeal of an old car on blocks.
This year has been different, in that the bulb season started late and lasted a long time, courtesy of the chill and drizzle of early spring. As I look back wistfully from June, that weather has a nostalgic quality about it — in my boreal soul, anyway. The result of the delayed bulb show is that the unsightly foliage persists.
Tulip leaves tend to wane quite quickly, though the stems and seed pods are still visible. The more difficult beast is the daffodil because the foliage on larger varieties is conspicuous for so long and spends its time slowly flopping, splaying and revealing open and ugly centers. As if this weren’t distressing enough, the leaf blades fade to a sickly yellow hue.
Folks deal with this in many ways. Some gather the strands, fold them over and secure them with a rubber band. Others make braids out of them before folding them over. Such seemingly fastidious care makes some gardeners cringe.
The view is that by tethering the clumps thus, you are impeding the plant’s capacity to photosynthesize and build reserves for next year. I’m more relaxed about this than I used to be. You wouldn’t want to do this to thoroughbred daffodil varieties, but for the workhorses such as Ice Follies, Carlton and their ilk, the tying seems to do little to suppress their natural vigor.
I used to compromise by gathering a clump loosely with a green string, but that approach seemed more trouble than it was worth — the resulting stack never quite looked natural.
The best course is to leave the bulbs untied but surround them with herbaceous plants that emerge as the daffodils, tulips, hyacinths and the rest are flowering and then proceed to vegetate. If the perennials don’t quite mask the bulb foliage, they take your eye off it.
In beds in partial shade, one of the best perennials for this is the hosta, which bursts from the ground but waits politely for the bulbs to do their thing, and then unfurls its lush leaves. This is the plant world’s version of Salome’s Dance of the Seven Veils, but slower and without the music or violence.
The secret is to have the supporting perennials come up around the daffodil clump, rather than over it. In one area, I have small variegated hostas that propped up the daffodil foliage so that it was like a spiky grass, and quite ornamental. In another area, a massing of larger hostas (Royal Standard) has obligingly smothered a group of lily-flowering tulips.
In the garden with light shade, I have also used deutzias, hellebores, epimediums and small hydrangeas to crowd around the flagging daffodils.
In sunnier locations, I use black-eyed Susans, liatris and coneflowers to distract from the bulb foliage. One bulb remains stubbornly present, to wit, the grape hyacinth. This is an assertive little thing, producing its wispy foliage in the autumn when you least expect (and want) it. In May and June, after flowering, it leaves behind dried stalks whose seed heads look like the little twirling radar cones you used to find on toy robots in the 1960s.
You could learn to dislike the grape hyacinth for its lingerings, but in bloom and en masse it captures the thrill of early spring.
And I have found the perfect plant to camouflage waning daffodils: the chive. In its third year, it forms a broad clump that resembles daffodil foliage so that the real thing recedes under a sculptural explosion of chive blossoms.
Here’s another trick: When you plant bulbs in the fall, sprinkle around them poppy, nigella or larkspur seeds. They grow rapidly in midspring and then top the show with their blossoms. By July, they’re all done, and the stalks can be pulled as you scatter the ripe seed for next year’s display.
The degrading bulb foliage serves a valuable role. If you can see it on the ground, you haven’t planted enough things in your garden beds. There is a difference between overcrowding plants and planting intensely. An open area marked at this point with a spent daffodil is crying out for more plants. Again, the key is to plant around the clump, not on top of it. What to plant? Cranesbills are well-behaved perennials, long-blooming and perfect for plugging a hole. Some of the smaller ornamental grasses are great for filling gaps. I am a huge fan of sideoats grama and prairie dropseed. If the bed is on the shadier side, you could put in some sedges, or hakone grass.
Do all this soon, because by month’s end the bulb foliage is going to melt away and you won’t remember where the clumps are. This may be hard to believe after watching the blasted foliage for nigh on two months, but take it from a guy who has misplaced his car keys and his Ginkgo biloba, though not necessarily in that order.
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