Last October, I planted a couple dozen cloves of garlic. I had no idea if that's standard procedure in this climate, or if the cloves suffer from the cold, or what. All I knew was that it was fall. Fall is when I plant garlic. So I did.
I managed to scavenge enough dead plant material from irises and so forth to mulch the bed, in the hopes of protecting the cloves from the severe winter weather.
We certainly got the severe winter weather, with a vengeance.
A couple of days ago, A. announced that he saw the first shoot of garlic poking up.
Yesterday, Cubby came inside complaining that it was too hot to play outside. So A. told him to take off his shirt. He did.
It was 61 degrees.
Today it is 73 degrees. Jack is in a short-sleeved shirt, which is very confusing to him. He keeps trying to pull the sleeves down to cover his arms.
He helped me rake the mulch off the garlic bed today. We found that at least three-quarters of the plants have sprouted. I expect the rest will make an appearance today.
My faith in the garlic has been repaid. Spring is really here now.