My dahlia saga began in January, when I started salivating over the offerings from Old House Gardens. I ordered some tubers, and then I took a quick breath and ordered some more in February (thanks to an early birthday gift from B’s mom and sister). The tubers arrived in April, and then the agonizing began: When to start them? How much water? Is it too cold on the fire escape right now? I’ll bring them in at night. Should I get some counseling from my neighbor who grows beautiful dahlias? I fussed and fretted over those tubers, but in direct contradiction to the adage about the watched pot (clay, in this case), they all sprouted and began to grow. I considered where I wanted to set them out, decided to dig a nice little semicircular bed next to the chicken coop, and finally planted them all in the ground in early June.
All spring, Nancy Bond from Soliloquy endured my worried chitters about the precious tubers, provided lots of encouragement, and, finally, set me straight: “I’m betting your dahlias grow beautifully! They’re flowers—like the geraniums—that don’t like to be embarrassed by being fussed over too much. :) Good luck and lots of pics!”
Excellent advice from Nancy Bond, who lives in Nova Scotia and has never had any trouble growing dahlias! Last Saturday I checked to make certain no one needed to be staked and then noticed the first buds: No, really, THE FIRST BUDS. Probably not very evident in this photograph, but dere’s buds on dem dar dahlias.
On 28 June 2008.
In zone 5 (formerly 4).
As old Will wrote: “O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping!”
But, soft, soft: I can’t wait to see what’s happening this weekend!
(Here’s the whole dramatic story of my dahlias.)