Who Ate the Tulips?

While these tulips are pretty, they do not fare well here in Michigan.

When my kid was four, a thoughtful friend sent us a box of tulip bulbs as a Mother’s Day gift. That fall, we spent an afternoon planting them. Near the driveway, there’s a small clearing we call the Children’s Forest, dotted with young oak and hickory saplings. We chose this spot for our new tulip bulbs, imagining it as their “perfect home.” We loosened the soil—a tough bed of clay, mixed in some compost, and together we carefully nestled each bulb into the earth.

The following spring, our effort was rewarded with a delightful display of bright pink blooms. Each tulip stood tall, bringing vibrant color to the forest clearing. My kid was fascinated, getting up close to examine the delicate petals and learning the names of each part of the flower. For two springs, they reappeared, resilient and bright. But by the third year, the flowers were noticeably fewer. And now, we feel fortunate if we see even one or two flowers each spring.

What happened to our tulips? And why did they fade rather than flourish? This simple question opens a broader story—about soil and ecology, local wildlife, and the fascinating cultural history of the tulip itself.

Growing Conditions: An Ecological Perspective

Heavy rain and high clay concentration in the soil make Michigan a poor environment for tulips.

At first glance, the Children’s Forest may seem like a perfect place for tulips to flourish. However, Michigan’s natural environment presents several challenges for these delicate blooms, and our park’s clay-heavy soil is a central factor. Tulips come from the mountainous regions of Central Asia, where they thrive in well-drained, sandy soil. So Tulips prefer soil where water passes through quickly, preventing their roots from sitting in water for too long. Here at Fellowfield Discovery Park, though, we have what you’d call ‘good, solid Michigan clay.’ Clay soil, with its fine, tightly packed particles, prevents water from moving easily through it. As tulip roots sit in damp soil the plant weakens over time. In regions like ours, where clay soil prevails, tulip bulbs are vulnerable to rotting, and the plants’ overall growth can be stunted.

Michigan weather adds further complications. Heavy spring rains can flood flower beds, and the late frosts that linger into spring add extra stress on early blooms. In other words, the Michigan climate and soil aren’t exactly welcoming to tulips. Without significant human intervention, like adding sand or organic matter to improve soil texture and drainage or planting in raised beds, tulip bulbs tend to decline over time. They may sprout and bloom for a few years, but eventually fade away, unable to establish a permanent home.

So while the Children’s Forest was a special spot for us to plant, it wasn’t a natural home for tulips. And even if they had managed to thrive there, they’d have faced other challenges in the form of local wildlife.

A Feast for Local Wildlife

Tulip bulbs may be eaten by wildlife before they are able to mature.

Our park is a sanctuary for wildlife and, to some of these residents, tulip bulbs offer a rich food source. Animals like moles, voles, and chipmunks are known to seek out tulip bulbs, often digging them up in the fall or winter when other food sources are scarce. These rodents store energy for the winter by feeding on roots and bulbs, and tulip bulbs are particularly rich in nutrients, making them a high-value target.

Even if the bulbs survive the winter, the emerging plants face additional threats from other creatures. Deer and rabbits often feast on the young shoots, especially in early spring when tulips arrive before a lot of other forest floor greenery, and new leaves are sparse. Smaller organisms, such as ants, beetle larvae, and fungi, can tunnel through and eat the roots, accelerating their decline.  

If you're a squirrel, tulip bulbs are a great way to store fat for the winter!

Unlike native plants, tulips lack certain defenses, such as bitter-tasting chemicals or spiny leaves, that would deter local wildlife. Over time, without intervention, their numbers gradually dwindle—a process we observed in the Children’s Forest, where tulips are now a rare spring sighting.

The Tulip in History: A Journey Through Colonialism and Commodification

Our tulips’ struggle for survival here at Fellowfield takes on new meaning when you consider its journey through history. Originally tulips are native to the mountain slopes of Central Asia (which is also the region where Fellowfield’s Board Treasurer, Nigora Erkeava, started her life and where many members of her family still reside!) Tulips made their way to Europe in the late 16th century, where they were introduced through trade routes connecting Europe with the Ottoman Empire. As explorers and traders brought plants and goods from different lands, the tulip became a prized possession among Europe’s upper classes, admired for its unusual colors and shapes. The tulip’s delicate nature also gained esteem because it required special knowledge and skill to successfully breed and raise the flower outside its native lands.

Since the 16th century, Tulips have been a hot commodity in the Western world.

For a short period in the 17th century, tulips gained extraordinary value in the Netherlands, becoming symbols of wealth and social prestige. This trend, known as “Tulip Mania,” turned tulips into highly sought-after commodities among the upper class. Tulips became luxury items—rare, beautiful, and exotic. For a brief period, a single tulip bulb could be exchanged for vast sums of money, as wealthy Europeans bought and traded tulips as status symbols. 

The tulip was also a symbol of colonial power. As European nations expanded their empires, they sought not only territory but also new, exotic goods to showcase their influence and wealth. The tulip, carried from its native lands and commodified in foreign markets, became an example of the colonial impulse to control and profit from nature. Plants, animals, native people, and cultural artifacts were taken from their indigenous environments and placed in new lands, with little regard for the ecological or cultural consequences. While tulips offered beauty, their cultivation and trade represented a larger trend of extracting resources and wealth from one region to benefit another. 

While native to Central Asia, the Tulip is now planted across the globe.

The tulip’s move from Central Asia to Europe and then beyond is part of a pattern we see over and over: lives are taken from one region and planted, literally or metaphorically, in foreign soil. As the Netherlands built their tulip farms and tulips became objects of desire in European markets, they were no longer simply flowers—they became products to buy and sell - commodities tied to profit, showing just how much humans will invest to control and possess what they value.

Holland, Michigan: A Modern Tulip Capital and a Reminder of Colonial Legacies

Tulips can now be seen in many gardens in North America. But what does the presence of these non-native plants signify?

The story of the tulip in Michigan is a unique chapter in this broader historical narrative, one deeply intertwined with the forces of colonialism that shaped the land and its communities. Holland, Michigan, now home to one of the largest tulip-growing festivals outside of the Netherlands, owes its tulip tradition to Dutch immigrants who settled in the area during the 19th century. These settlers arrived in search of religious freedom and economic opportunity, but their settlement marked the beginning of profound changes to the region’s land and social fabric. The arrival of European settlers led to the forced displacement of the Anishinaabe people, who had long called this land home and stewarded its ecosystems through practices such as controlled burns to maintain diverse prairies and forests.

European settlers transformed American soil to suit their agricultural practices--- at a cost.

As logging operations stripped Michigan’s old-growth forests and fire suppression policies replaced Indigenous relationships with the land, the ecological balance of the region shifted dramatically. Wetlands were drained, prairies converted to farmland, and native plants were replaced by crops and ornamental species introduced by settlers. The tulips, brought over by Dutch immigrants to recreate the landscapes of their homeland, are a striking symbol of this transformation. Unlike Michigan, the Netherlands offers conditions similar to the tulip’s native habitat, with well-drained soils and stable, cool temperatures during the spring growing season that allow them to flourish. In contrast, tulips thrive in Michigan only because colonial processes displaced Indigenous peoples, suppressed native flora, and fundamentally reshaped the landscape.

Today, Holland’s tulip fields are celebrated as a symbol of cultural heritage and community pride for the descendants of those refugees from Europe. It is a story of resilience that adds to our understanding of Michigan’s history and cultural diversity. But when that story of pride is the only story told, we lose real perspective on our history and its complexity. The story of the tulip is a story of survival and resilience for some but also demonstrates the lasting impacts of colonialism—on the land, on our indigenous neighbors, and on the ecosystems that were forever changed. The vibrant blooms of Tulip Time stand as a testament to human effort and adaptation, but they also underscore how much of Michigan’s landscape has been, and in many cases continues to be, reshaped by extraction, exploitation, and cultural imposition. 

Monocultural practices have disastrous effects on the soil, native ecology, and the crop's resistance to disease.

The impacts of colonialism on Michigan’s ecology and social structures are profound and long-lasting, with harmful consequences that continue to affect the state today. Ecologically, the displacement of Indigenous knowledge and practices, such as controlled burns, has led to a decline in native plant species like wild lupine and prairie grasses, which depend on fire for regeneration. This loss of biodiversity has cascading effects on ecosystems, such as the decline of pollinators like the endangered Karner blue butterfly. The widespread deforestation of Michigan’s old-growth forests during the 19th and early 20th centuries caused severe soil erosion and nutrient depletion, leaving the land less fertile and more vulnerable to flooding. Wetland drainage for agriculture and urban development has further disrupted natural water filtration systems, contributing to water pollution, habitat loss, and local extinctions. Monoculture crops and ornamental species, including the tulip farms of Holland, displaced native flora and reduced ecological resilience, making Michigan’s landscapes more vulnerable to climate change and extreme weather events.

Water pollution due to industry disproportionately affects low-income communities.

Socially, the forced removal of Indigenous peoples, such as the Anishinaabe, severed their connection to the land and disrupted traditional knowledge that had sustained Michigan’s ecosystems for centuries. Today, Indigenous communities in Michigan face systemic inequities, including limited access to land and barriers to reclaiming sovereignty and cultural heritage. Environmental injustice is another legacy of colonialism, with low-income and marginalized communities, particularly in urban areas like Detroit and Flint, disproportionately bearing the burden of industrial pollution, lead-contaminated water, and inadequate infrastructure. The Flint water crisis, where residents were exposed to lead-tainted drinking water due to cost-cutting measures, is a stark example of how historical patterns of racial and economic discrimination continue to harm communities.

Culturally, colonialism has attempted erasure of Indigenous knowledge and traditions. Suppression of Indigenous languages and ecological practices caused the loss of valuable cultural identity and sustainable land management methods. Efforts to restore practices like controlled burns are still met with resistance, highlighting the ongoing struggle to integrate traditional knowledge into contemporary land policies. Additionally, events like Holland, Michigan’s Tulip Time Festival often romanticize European settlement while obscuring the displacement and ecological changes it brought. This homogenization of landscapes and narratives erases the histories of the land’s original stewards and perpetuates a one-sided view of Michigan’s past.

Lessons from Our Tulip Experiment: Embracing Native Ecology and Honoring Cultural Values

Planting native species promotes biodiversity.

The tulip bulbs we planted in the Children’s Forest were a gift and a beautiful addition to this place for a few short seasons. Their disappearance is a small event in the grand scheme, but their retreat offered us a chance to reflect on our approach at Fellowfield Discovery Park to honor both ecological and cultural values.

Instead of attempting to force tulips to grow at Fellowfield, we’ve chosen to focus on plants that support local biodiversity. Native species not only provide beauty and interest, but also serve essential roles in local ecosystems, sustaining wildlife, contributing to soil health, cleaning water, and promoting natural balance without heavy intervention. Through the fleeting visit of our tulips, we’ve learned that even small actions—like planting different plants in the soil—can make a meaningful impact on local ecology. And so, with this in mind, we do what we can to make the Park a place where native plants and local wildlife can thrive together, a resilient and interconnected landscape for future generations to enjoy.

Those future generations include my kid, who helped me plant the tulips and expressed pride and joy to see them bloom. What story will they tell themselves about what happened, and how will that story contribute to their view of nature and beauty? I believe my response to the tulip’s disappearance has an impact. I don’t know how my kid will be affected by hearing the tulip’s history, learning about clay soil or prairie burns, or helping to plant native milkweed where the tulips once bloomed. But I do know that if my kid never learns that history or has these experiences, all I would have given them is a tulip-shaped view of what the world can be.

Tulips are pretty, but so are plants native to Michigan, such as cattails.

Making a commitment to native plants and the ecosystems they support reflects an intentional decision to move away from the kind of land reshaping and intense cultivation seen in places like Holland, Michigan, and countless other locations across the world. While Holland’s tulip fields are visually stunning, they are also a reminder of the immense efforts involved in cultivating non-native species in non-native soil—an act that mirrors a deeper mindset of dominance over the land and one that has historically included colonial claims over the land and its resources. The tulip’s journey from Central Asia to the Netherlands and eventually to Michigan is a journey marked by removal and dominance.

In choosing not to replicate this approach, we are, in our small way, working against the tide of imposed landscapes and towards a healthier relationship with the land. By respecting both the ecological needs of our environment and the cultural values of coexistence and reciprocity, I hope we can create a space that celebrates the resilience of nature and honors the wisdom of those people who have better appreciated and respected nature’s gifts.