Ghosts and goblins? Cobwebs in the corner? Standing water and mildewing plants? You think those are scary? No, I'll tell you scary. Scary is letting your eyes get the better of the rest of you in the bulb-ordering department. Scary is carefully planning just how many you have space for and then ordering "just a few more" just in case. Scary is being seduced by those lovely sirens in the catalogs and being lured to a doom of screaming muscles and aching joints.
Then they arrive. Gee, there are so many boxes. Surely there should be only one. Or two. And the boxes are so BIG. There must be a lot of packing material to safely cushion the bulbs. Yes, that's it. That's kind of scary.
After the boxes arrived, you had nothing but rain every Saturday and Sunday, and it's dark when you get home from work. You plan for planting a leisurely few every few days has morphed into OH NO I have to get them all into the ground on the next clear day. That's kind of scary.
Finally, a Saturday with no real rain. A check shows the soil is dry enough to work, so you get busy. It's kind of scary to see just how many bulbs there are after you've unpacked the boxes. Surely you didn't order 50 of that one variety? A check of the plan shows there's room for maybe 20. And what are those? You ordered those? Where will they go? And you DIDN'T order those. You've been further sabotaged by a free gift. Ha! There are no free gifts. Those bulbs will require sweat equity, agonizing mental gymnastics trying to find a place to squeeze them in, bending and stretching and sore muscles. No, there are no free gifts. Free gifts are scary.
With grim determination, foreknowledge of the pain you'll be feeling later, and maybe a slight glimmer of hope for a spring reward, you set to work. After all, you do have space for about half of that pile of promise in your garage. Right here, between the sweetspire and surrounding perennials, there's room for 30. But wait, what's this? Roots? Big roots and lots of them. Where did these come from? Now that's scary.
And over here, the photos from spring show an empty spot. You start to dig, and what's that? There are already bulbs here? How did they get here? Why aren't they in the photos? What are they? That's kind of scary. Even scarier when you realize you now have no place for this group of 20.
But you persist, and you get 30 in the ground. Then another 10 over here. And 12 here and 24 there. Pretty soon the border looks like it's been invaded by crazed giant squirrels intent on hiding their rainy day cache. Pretty soon, your back has had enough and you can't find another space to stick a single bulb. Pretty soon there are 150 of those bulbs nestled in the ground, so you call it quits and head in. And then you see there are at least another 200 in the garage waiting. Now THAT's scary.