Fiction: Tu-ta-lu, Tulips

By Dave Bachmann
arttimesjournal July 26, 2021

“To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived – that is to have succeeded.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

They don’t know it yet. But come spring they will. And it’ll be something to see, I can promise you that.

I didn’t get all mopey after the diagnosis; just figured I’d better get busy making plans. Like mama always said, ‘Isabel, leave the world a better place than the way you found it.’ I figure I got a pretty good start on that one. I was married for sixty-three years to Henry before he passed, bless his soul. I’ve got four children, eight grandchildren and one great grandchild. Haven’t exactly been sittin’ around twiddling my thumbs, you know.

That being said, there’s no limit to the good you can do for others in a lifetime, and I intend to go out with a bang.

The whole thing came to me while I was enjoying happy hour on my porch swing with a half glass of chardonnay, same as I do every afternoon, helloing with the parade of neighbors that happen by. There was Roy and his twelve-year-old cocker four houses down, Jill from across the street pushing her newborn in a stroller, Wayne and his wife Darlene, the retired couple, three houses up the street and… well, pretty much the whole neighborhood. They all find their way by my house most days and we gossip and hee-haw and carry on.

And to a person, they always comment on what a beautiful garden I have. Which is what gave me the idea.

The test run didn’t go so well. It was late at night and even though I’ve done this about a million times I’ve never done it in the dark before. I kept dropping and misplacing the necessary accoutrements of this little caper of mine.

But I bought a flashlight and miniaturized everything else to fit neatly in a shoebox. Then, off I went and tried again.

This next time I was successful. I even allowed myself ¾ of a glass of chardonnay the next afternoon to celebrate.

I carefully planned everything and even made me a map so’s I could mark off the houses, one by one. Because the docs told me I’d get tired as things progressed, I figured I’d start with the houses furthest away first, then gradually work my way back. All in all, there was my block and the ones north and south of it for a total of twenty-eight homes.

And I needed to get cooking cause the docs also told me I only had six to eight weeks.

The hardest part was waiting until everything was quiet on the street. There are a lot of youngsters mixed in with the oldsters in my neighborhood and they stay up past my 8:30 bedtime. I tried watching television but there’s nothing on that time of night except a bunch of silliness. So, I dug out my old VCR and watched tapes of The Johnny Carson Show. My lord, that man was a joy.

Night after night I trekked to the next house on my list. Day after day I triumphantly X’d another house on my map. I was making good progress.

It took a good month and then some as I had to take a couple of nights off because of rain. The dark is one thing. Rain is another.

But I did it, finished the last house in record time. Well, record time for an 83-year-old, anyway. And that’s when I decided to start using my new catch phrase, whenever folks walked by. We’d chit-chat as usual but as they were leaving, I’d call out, ‘Tu-ta-lu, tulips!’ The first few times I did it folks looked at me like I was crazy but after awhile it just became part of our back-and-forth banter. A few of them even began saying it back to me.

Little did they know what they were in store for.

It might have been because it wasn’t on the map or maybe because I was so tired, but I had neglected my own house. Of course, I didn’t need to skulk around in the dark and freeze my fanny the way I did for everyone else, so I took my time and did it one sunny afternoon.

I found a nice spot, near the front so folks could see my porch swing and think about me sitting there, drinking my chardonnay. Got down on my knees and cut out a little swathe of grass, carefully lifted it out, then started the hole. Funny, after doing it in the dark so many times you’d think it’d be easy in the daylight, but I fumbled and bumbled around with the trowel like a novice gardener, which I definitely am not. Anyway, I got the hole made, dropped the tulip bulb in, covered it with dirt and the strip of grass I’d cut out, then watered it. Just like I had twenty-eight times before.

I picked tulips because they have to germinate in the cool soil for six to eight weeks. Of course, I won’t be around to see it happen but as soon as things warm up in the spring, those tulips will pop up all over the neighborhood. Red tulips, blue tulips, yellow tulips, purple tulips. It’ll be a sight to behold.

And the world will be just a little bit better because of it.

And when folks pass by my house and see my empty swing, I hope they think of me. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll look up, smile and call out, ‘Tu-ta-lu, Tulips!’