Spring is my favorite. It feels uncool to admit that because it’s so easy, always fresh and floriferous. I like to think I prefer a challenge — in September I will tell you a late summer done right is more gratifying — but I love how spring stops me in my tracks every few steps. And not just to pull onion grass.

I brake for the spicy and sweet scents of Korean spice bush (Viburnum carlesii) and lilac. And the illusion of space in a garden that will be overwhelmingly choc-a-block in another couple of days. And I’m a sucker for spring’s bulbs. Though with bulbs I will play the nerd card and promote uncommon things instead everyday daffodils and tulips. (Not that I’m not a fan of those too particularly after an extra long winter. Green-eyed and sweetly fragrant Narcissus ‘Sinopel’ for one, is worth the wait as are tulips ‘Blue Spectacle’, ‘Akebono’, and ‘Green Star’.)

Fumewort is a terrible name for a fall-planted bulb that produces a puff of smoky blue foliage in early spring. The name makes some sense, come to think of it. Another common name for Corydalis solida is bird-in-a-bush. I don’t get that one. What I do see in its ankle-high spires of mauve spurred flowers are schools of tadpoles. How about frogs-in-a-fog?

I remember this corydalis blooming after most daffodils but this year’s late start has compressed the timing of everything. April into May is their time, give or take night temperatures, and a rich patch of dappled shade is their place. Happily situated bulbs will reward the gardener by increasing at a rate just fast enough to share with the one or two friends who follow your instagram feed and beg for a division. A bonus for those of you with acreage is deer leave them alone.

Deer shouldn’t browse camass/quamash/wild hyacinth (Camassia quamash) either. This Pacific Northwest native grows best in moist soil (think rain garden), full sun to partial shade, and will also show its gratitude by increasing steadily. The more the merrier, I say, and again, expect your friends to put their requests in after seeing endless pictures of sparkling blue stars. Their 2-foot tall stems are surrounded by neat grassy foliage that goes dormant by mid-summer.

Leucojum aestivum, also known as summer snowflake, is on my wish list, particularly the cultivar ‘Gravetye Giant’, which looks like a snowdrop on steroids and blooms a good four months later. Two-foot stems, again unappealing to wildlife, dangle a series of green-tipped white bells that ring in the breeze. Come mid-summer the glare of white flowers will stick me in the eye, but in the soft light of late spring these guys glitter. Love. Want.

The best thing about bulbs is I know I can fit them in, even as my garden once again promises to burst its over-planted, overgrown seams. If I were on the ball I would strategically place them at the feet of shrubs and perennials like lespedeza and baptisia as a preventative measure. Every year I succumb to the illusion of space and lose perfectly good annuals and tender perennials to their shade, and to the detriment of my late summer garden.

It would seem perhaps spring, so easy on the eyes, has its challenges after all. (And, of course, there’s nothing easy about onion grass.)

Kristin Green is a Bristol-based gardener and author of "Plantiful: Start Small, Grow Big with 150 Plants that Spread, Self-Sow, and Overwinter". Follow her blog at trenchmanicure.com.