Last week Nina gave me a box she’d been meaning to get over to me for months.
Inside was an amaryllis bulb–not the pink and white one pictured there, but one that had sent up a shoot that bloomed red in the dark, then another stalk that didn’t open and that stayed ghostly white.
And then. A third (!) stalk. It had not yet shriveled. It had a foursome of white leaf tips pointing up next to it.
Now, amaryllis buds are begun in the bulb before the next year’s season, so this one came from a superb grower for it to have had three sets: one is normal for your average Christmas-gift kit, two from a bigger bulb is wonderful, and three is the best your average nursery will have.
The bulb was still alive. The case over the buds inside had opened, just like the first stalk, but like the second there was no color.
Just four tiny white flower buds, open to the world in the darkness, waiting, sure that light and water must be out there somewhere.
I planted it. I watered it. I put it in the window.
The other three buds have already doubled in length and started coloring up.
Sometimes you just have to get a good thing started and then, as they say, it takes on a life of its own.
(Speaking of which. For those who want to advocate on behalf of Milk Pail, you can write to Mountain View City Council via the left column, six down, here. )