
Crown Fritillary at Keukenhof Gardens
Most of us greet the arrival of blooming bulbs in spring as a welcome sign that we’ve gotten to the far side of winter. While I love the first crocus as much as the next gardener, for me the magic of these early blooms begins six months earlier, in these dog days of August when I spend an immodest amount of time perusing bulb catalogs — and by “catalogs” I mean the entire internet.
Browsing multiple tabs, deciding on a color palette, doodling possible bloom sequences, and selecting options for the cutting garden is sweet relief to the parched garden that I’m sure I ought to be tending. Just thinking about that damp spring day when I cut the first daffodils is like a cold cloth on the back of my neck.

Debra Prinzing and Lorene Edwards Forkner on tour, spring 2026

Keukenhof Gardens, aka, the church of spring-blooming bulbs.
This year’s orders are heavily informed by my trip to the Netherlands and Belgium last spring. Fear not, I’m not looking to replicate the kaleidoscopic displays of Keukenhof Gardens. The carefully curated, synchronous combinations were dazzling, and I was glad to see rivers of blue muscari, a classic image that I remember from when I visited the garden in the 80s when my husband and I were on a starving artist/backpacking odyssey.

More crown imperial fritillary please.

Several of us on the tour lost our minds over Tulipa ‘Brazil’
Various compositions featuring stately Crown Imperial fritillaries captivated my heart (and will likely do serious damage to my budget). Color blocked beds of tulips, thankfully labeled, had us all scribbling notes, already plotting our beds for next year.
Tulips and I have come to a mutual understanding: I no longer expect the bulbs to rebloom, and in return I get to dabble and try new varieties each year, then dig and dispose of the bulbs after the blooms fade. It used to feel like an extravagance. Tulip bulbs run about $1.25 to $1.50 each, most bloom for several weeks; while an average 4-inch annual runs $3.00 to $5.00 and requires month and months of tending. Maybe I’m justifying my position — or maybe this is simply the price of avoiding disappointment when the blooms fail to rebloom.

Hershey colored ‘James Wild’ tulip
An exception to my one-and-done tulip strategy: In the front garden, where well-drained soil bakes in the summer sun and the beds don’t get any additional irrigation during the growing season, a couple of tulip varieties are well into their fourth or fifth year of blooming: caramel colored ‘Brown Sugar’ (triumph) and Hershey chocolate ‘James Wild’ (single late) have been remarkably resilient. Every year I expect it to be their last and every year (so far) I’m delighted when they return. Old House Gardens has a Brown Sugar sampler of heirloom tulips in cinnamon brown shades.

In a surprise to absolutely no one, I’ve settled on an orange/bronze/wine tulip color palette.
Speaking of bulb vendors, it’s time I get back to my open tabs, pull up my spreadsheet to compare pricing, and make my final selections — sweet relief for a depleted gardener dreaming of rain.
Lovely photos, Lorene! I, too, love Old House Gardens, and am happy to support them. My current obsession is Tulipa “Copper Image” from John Scheepers. Do you know it?
Hi Judith, copper image is gorgeous. I love the warm colors in my very chilly and damp Pacific Northwest spring garden!
That James Wild tulip is amazing! In a year or two when I feel safe to plant tulips again (voles) I’ll keep him in mind.