All the energy and luster of springtime seems captured by meadows abloom with daffodils, old apple trees ringed in hundreds of snowdrops or lawns carpeted in purple crocus. But it is all such a fantasy. If we still have any lawn left, most of us need to get in a first mowing before the bulb foliage ripens — plus can you imagine digging out plugs of turf to plant all those crocus in the first place? There is precious little space left unplanted or unpaved in most urban and suburban gardens. Without the open space for sheets of spring bulbs, what is an acreage-challenged gardener to do?

Think of it this way: Artistry with bulbs lies not in the choosing, but in the planting. Placement and grouping is the whole trick, and the same principles apply whether the scale is vast or small. It is always a mistake to plant bulbs singly or, even worse, in a row. I often see tulips lined up along borders or the tops of rockeries looking less like flowers than like stiff sentries waiting to go off duty. Ignore those silly, narrow bulb planters they always try to sell in October. What is needed is a flat-bladed shovel to scoop out valleys wide enough to hold bunches of bulbs.

Whether you're planting delicate Iris reticulata or hefty King Alfred daffodils, it's best to strive for the informal look. It doesn't matter if you scatter the bulbs about in drifts of 201 or seven. Just make sure you squeeze as many as you can of the same type of bulb into each bunch, and plant an uneven number. I don't know why the latter is true, but evenly numbered groupings always seem more dull and static than uneven ones. When you're out in the neighborhood this spring, check out bulb plantings you find attractive, and see if they aren't always in groups of nine, or 11, or 17.

The second principle in good bulb planting is to play off what your garden already offers. While you're out counting the neighbors' bulbs, notice effective pairings of bulbs with early-blooming shrubs and perennials. Not only do such clever combos use every inch of garden space, but the perennials grow up to cover the dying bulb foliage. And with space for only small drifts, bulb colors can be magnified when played off the lime-green foliage of lady's mantle, or the fresh orange-toned leaves of Spirea japonica 'Magic Carpet.'

I've seen dramatic plantings of big orange tulips against a background of brown-bladed phormium, and pale-pink tulips showcased by the ruffled foliage of Heuchera 'Chocolate Ruffles.' Or try echoing the paleness of white narcissus 'Mount Hood' with a drooping white bleeding heart. I love the soft yellow hyacinth 'City of Haarlem' planted with the intense gentian blue flowers of Pulmonaria augustifolia, or ebony 'Queen of the Night' tulips rising elegantly from a skirting of vivid yellow dead nettle (Lamium maculatum 'Aureum'). This kind of magic can be pulled off in pots or even the smallest of garden beds.

The acres of blooming bulbs in the Skagit Valley give the impression we live in a bulb-growing paradise. Not quite true, because bulbs have very specific needs. Most require all the sun you can find, or they grow pathetically spindly. It is important to let bulb foliage wither on its own schedule, not pulling or cutting it away until it has collapsed and turned yellow (hence the need for nearby perennials). But most of all, bulbs need good drainage. They'll rot away in the wet and heavy soil that characterizes so many of our gardens. I've read all kinds of formulas for mixing grit into the planting holes, but it sounds like such a bother. Just keep layering on the mulch to improve your soil's texture, and in the meantime, you'll have the most success planting bulbs on slopes, or in raised beds, pots and windowboxes.

Now In Bloom

Brunnera macrophylla 'Langtrees' is a woodland perennial that prefers moist soil and some shade, rewarding proper placement with hordes of forget-me-not blue flowers in earliest springtime. It is hard to believe that these airy little flowers, held aloft on wiry dark stems, are actually part of the same plant as the large, silver-dotted, heart-shaped leaves that carpet the ground beneath them.

Valerie Easton is manager at the Miller Horticultural Library. Her new book, "Plant Life: Growing a Garden in the Pacific Northwest" (Sasquatch Books, 2002) is an updated selection of her magazine columns. Her e-mail address is vjeaston@aol.com.