The bitter chill of the autumn air didn’t deter my girls and I from braving the elements to set the last of the autumn-planted bulbs this morning. We trudged to the garden as the brisk wind nipped at our cheeks and the flocks of geese honking in flight overhead provided a harbinger of more harsh weather to come.

Julia, who is 9 and has a slight aversion to earthworms, took charge of developing a color scheme and dropping bulbs into deeply dug holes. Emma is 6 and is fearless of slimy things and in love with digging holes. She placed a smattering of holes in the garden beds (which I inconspicuously added to and amended while her attention was elsewhere). The abstract nature of our colorful pattern will remain a mystery beneath the soil until the bulbs spring forth next year.

Bulb planting is a great family event. There is something wonderful about setting out “seeds” (of course, plants we call bulbs are specialized roots and stems, not seeds) in autumn, protecting them under a thick blanket of earth, knowing they’ll materialize from the cold soil of spring with indisputable beauty and refreshment after a drawn-out winter in here in the north. My girls delight at our annual fall planting. Some years we’ve only planted a handful of bulbs here and there. This year we helped plant some for a neighbor, and in addition to our own, the whole planting involved hundreds of daffodils and tulips, as well as dozens of rather odd or unusual bulbs.

Among the more unusual bulbs we planted this year are trout lilies, botanically known as Erythronium x ‘Pagoda’. This particular hybrid cultivar is a cross between two trout lilies native to the western United States. These gems promise to reward with their mahogany-mottled soft green leaves and their lily-like lemon yellow flowers. Trout lily flowers are borne two to 10 per stem and are dappled with soft brown spots. These lilies thrive in shady areas that are rich in organic matter and are excellent for naturalizing along woodland paths and along the edge of the woods or shrubbery plantings. Forming dense colonies over time, trout lilies are easy to care for once established.

We also planted winter aconite, Eranthis hyemalis. This plant was brought to our attention late last winter, when a neighbor showed us the buttercup yellow flowers cut from a plant she was given. The winter aconite plants have deeply lobed leaves that vaguely resemble woodruff leaves. The plant grows well in sun or dappled shade and prefers rich alkaline soil, so adding limestone and composted garden waste as soil amendments at the time of planting is recommended. One gardener warned me that winter aconite can spread vigorously by seed, so we plan to cut the spent flower heads once they fade.

Technically, winter aconite is hardy only to Zone 5, but it will grow in protected microclimates in Zone 4. The protection of a south- or southeast-facing side of a building, for example, may offer enough protection to grow the somewhat tender perennial.

Whether marginally or fully hardy in our northern zone, the temptation and allure of fall planted bulbs is too overwhelming, I think. Plant some of each, I say! Sow and hope. Wait with patience. Anticipate the beauty.

Spring may seem far away to those who dread the long, dark months. Placing these small bundles of life within the soil offers a ray of hope, a symbol of life on the other side of winter.

Diana George Chapin is the NEWS garden columnist. Send horticulture questions to Gardening Questions, 512 North Ridge Rd., Montville 04941, or e-mail them to dianagc@midcoast.com. Selected questions will be answered in future columns. Include name, address and telephone number.