The Landscape Architect

I love planting flowers, even though the task leaves me stuffed up for days. Each fall I add more bulbs so that our daffodils, tulips, and other early spring flowers will pop up unexpectedly and bring us out of winter gray days. My goal is to make that show bigger each year. We have specific spots, mostly in the front of the house where we have these planned flower gardens. Apparently our lawn critters have different ideas about where those bulbs should go.

For the past four years, since my husband redid our back deck during the pandemic, one single tulip pops up. I looked out the kitchen window one spring day four years ago and saw the fresh stem. “Why did you put just one bulb in the planter?” I asked my husband.

“I didn’t,” he said. “It was him.” He pointed to a fat squirrel hanging out on a bird feeder, doing all sorts of contortions to try to get the seed, even though it was a squirrel-proof feeder. Now, I don’t necessarily believe it was that exact squirrel, but my husband seems to think he knows our yard regulars, and he was certain it was that one enterprising squirrel.

That squirrel had vision. He thought the planters (or at least that one) seemed too empty. The regular perennials that live there don’t come up yet by this point in the year and that squirrel thought the deck needed a little sparkle. A little je ne sais quoi. Who am I to argue with this little landscaper? He does live out there, after all. It’s kind of his home. He should be able to decorate just a tiny, inoffensive amount.

We still have many fat squirrels. I wonder if any of them outside right now are his descendants. Or it could still be him, enjoying his design aesthetic. Yard squirrels apparently live 5-6 years (and I actually looked that up for this post). I actually now look forward to seeing it each year, and the 2024 stem has appeared. That squirrel was right. It’s just what my winter drab deck needs before everything else comes along.