When we arrived in Bruges we got off our train and started walking towards town. The train station and surrounding bus depot seemed plenty modern, with the exception of the old cobbles of the courtyard. We crossed a street, and then a stunning canal with trees arching over the water, some cherries still holding onto the last of their blooms and at least one lilac just coming into its own. 

On the other side of the bridge we stepped into the past. The rough cobble road was pinned between rows of two story brick houses- low enough that you could see the church steeples looming over the city. Many of these houses had simple wooden window boxes containing either primroses or geraniums. What few street lights we saw were held up by ornate cast iron sconces which would have felt just as natural holding candle lit lamps. Running my hand along the weathered brick walls I felt like I could feel the ghosts of the city walking alongside me; so when I heard the clatter of hoofs on the cobble naturally I thought it was my imagination- until I saw the horse and carriage roll by.

The parks in Bruges are found mostly along the canals and are mostly just tightly mowed lawns pleasantly shaded by a diversity of large trees. The churches throughout town were similarly ornamented, with fewer trees and the notable additions of stone statues and patches of daffodils spreading through the lawn. We got to walk through an active convent, Ten Wijngaerde, which was founded in the 13th century. Much of the convent was organized in a ring around a central forest. The inward facing facades of the brick buildings were painted white, contrasting beautifully with their red roofs above and the green grass below, and drawing attention to the only unpainted building in the forest- the church. The forest floor was full of daffodils about a week past their prime. As we left the convent we noticed a parklike section obscured from view by a tall brick wall. Too curious to resist, I had my brother boost me up to get a view over the wall. Inside I saw what must have once been the convent garden, with a long glass greenhouse, a wide lawn that may have once held row vegetables, and a few tidy rows of espaliered fruit trees.

While we were only in Amsterdam for three days we did make one trip out of the city to see Keukenhof garden. On almost 80 acres, and containing some 7 million bulbs, Keukenhof is known around the world for it’s annual spring show, showcasing the tulips, hyacinths, daffodils, and other bulbs that The Netherlands produces for most of the world. It is no secret that I am not a fan of mass planting or gaudy colors in the garden, so I have always tended away from tulips; after a trip to Keukenhof my perspective has changed. Not only did Keukenhof display tulips unlike any I had ever seen or even imagined, they illustrated how bulbs planted en masse can pull you through a space, highlight and amplify features in the landscape, and brighten an otherwise dreary spring day.

The day we visited Keukenhof was just that, dreary; 45°F, densely cloudy, and drizzling. We arrived at 8am as the gates opened (as was recommended for those who don’t like crowds) and we were feeling chilly and tired. Inside the gate we were greeted by a profusion of bright colors from all around; beds brimming with bulbs of different shapes, colors, and assortments in every direction. Though we stood in an open courtyard, we could see the garden continued into a forest where flowers peaked around tree trunks, hinting at the adventure to come. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so tired.

The beds were infinitely variable, and I was struck first by those that contained assorted bulbs. Some of these contained only tulips, of uniform height but varying colors. These beds contained an entire color palette, but felt stable and grounded despite the variety they contained. Other beds contained one tulip variety paired with one other bulb such as hyacinth, muscari (grape hyacinth), daffodils, or persian fritillaria. These duo plantings felt like floral conversations, evoking emotions ranging from the whimsical to the formidable. Then there were the group plantings; beds full of not one or two, but four to twelve varieties of tulips, underplanted with muscari and balkan anemone, and interplanted with everything from daffodils to hyacinth to crown imperial (Fritillaria imperialis). These beds were spectacular in their diversity and abundance. One square foot of bed could be stared at for an hour and details would be missed. In these beds, as one flower faded out of season (like so many of the daffodils were during our visit) the others would be coming into their own; so even though there were spent petals shriveling brown on the stem you had so much other color to focus on that you looked right past them. In fact, in some of these beds I felt the spent flowers somehow added to the overall beauty by emphasizing the colors of the new blooms and hinting at this cycle where all good things must come to an end.

Of course there were solid mass plantings as well, but even these I came to appreciate. For example, three rows of tulips, orange, yellow, and red, planted along the side of a winding path through the forest would pull you along as effectively as a sign reading, “this way.” Or a circle of white tulips can be made to seem brighter if surrounded by a ring of deep purple hyacinth like the variety ‘Dark Dimension’. Concentric circles of pinks and purples were used to call attention to a central sculpture, but could just as well have been surrounding a bench where one might sit in contemplation. In one place a swath of grape hyacinth wound into the woods, evoking the qualities of flowing water, and forcing the viewer to wonder where the river ends.

Aside from the implied water features, there were actual water features as well, including one large lake. From the shore of the lake you could look across at hillsides where swaths of color seeped out of the forest. Some of the bulbs were planted in stripes, others in patterns, some planted to resemble flowers (like a tulip made up of tulips). Where the flowers reached the waters edge they reflected beautifully. 

Towards the end of our visit I saw some gardeners deadheading beside the water and found that they were happy to answer my questions. The garden maintains 40 full-time employees, who plant bulbs from October through December, maintain the grounds and care for bulbs January through April, pull bulbs May through July, and then begin designing and reorganizing until planting time the following October. Farms donate bulbs in bulk to the garden in exchange for having their business information displayed with the beds. Every single bed is replanted every single year. The gardener I was speaking with told me he had been working there for forty years. As we walked away we noticed how busy the garden had gotten and we knew by 11am it would be more of a zoo than a garden, so we made our escape.

The scale and density of this garden was inspiring to say the least. It must be a herculean task to get all seven million bulbs planted every year in three short months. Beyond that I have a newfound appreciation for all that one can do with a bulb. I realized my stigma against tulips might not have been based so much on the flower itself but by the lack of creativity in how they are so often used. When used with a purpose, and with regard to what they are planted around and amongst, tulips can be truly elegant additions to any garden.

Our return journey was a slog, but it gave us plenty of time to reflect on the trip. I never quite got used to the old brick buildings, the cobbled roads, or turning a corner to see a church spire ascending endlessly into the sky. I did get used to cafe culture, sitting on the side of the street and watching the world pass by, not paying a sales tax, and not needing to tip. I didn’t get used to the crappy coffee they served but I drank it all the same. I did get used to the great beer which cost less than water. While I missed having the freedom to drive, we got used to the incredibly convenient rail system and we certainly got our steps in. 

As a farmer and gardener it’s been a while since I’ve had down time in the spring. Having a chance to stop and smell the roses, literally and figuratively, not only gave me new inspiration for my work, but it helped me remember all the reasons why I love what I do. All around the world people use a million different plants in a billion unique ways; I can’t wait for my next opportunity to go out and see more. In the meantime, I’m excited to get to work…