quote daffodils

"Daffodils that come before the swallow dares,
And take the winds of March with beauty."
- William Shakespeare

"Daffy Down Dilly has come to town,
In her yellow petticoat and green gown."
- folk

Wear A Leek for Saint Dave Today

Or a daffodil! Here's a photo of the first garden stepping stone I ever made - it's seen the passing of many winters and I keep it in a spot where the snow melts earlier. Signs of spring are beginning to occur - the snowdrops and some early winter aconites are forming flowers, though they haven't opened yet, and the primroses and seed packets have arrived at Meijers, to bring home with the groceries.



March 1, Wear a Daffodil or Leek for St. David of Wales
From Wikipedia.com:
"Saint David's Day . . . is the feast day of Saint David, the patron saint of Wales, and falls on March 1 each year. The date . . . was chosen in remembrance of the death of Saint David on that day in 589, and has been celebrated . . . since then. The date was declared a national day of celebration . . . in the 18th century.
"On this day many Welsh people wear one or both of the national emblems of Wales on their lapel to celebrate: the daffodil (a generic Welsh symbol . . .) or the leek (Saint David's personal symbol). The association between leeks and daffodils is strengthened by the fact that they have similar names in Welsh, cenin (leek) and cenin Bedr (daffodil, literally "Peter's leek").
"In south Wales males usually wear leeks while young girls wear daffodils; in the north the daffodil predominates."

Green Thumb Sunday - Daffodils for Mom

The photos are from a couple of weeks ago, but their sunny color brightens up my day and I hope yours. I used to give my Mom daffodils, so they mean sonmething to me.

Gardeners, Plant and Nature Lovers can join in every Sunday, visit As the Garden Grows for more information.

just sayin'

My very own piece of folk wisdom, "it always snows on the daffodils", has been validated once more... snowed last night. Here is a photo of some of my daffodils a few days ago, I'll have to take a snow picture after breakfast.

Happy Spring, Michigan!

Happy May Day

Remember when kids used to make May Baskets out of construction paper to hang on neighbor's doors? Filling special baskets with dandelions, violets, and whatever garden flowers mom let us pick, we made a connection with Spring that kids seem to miss these days.
Linda P. sent me a message reminding me of a story that went around a few years ago, so here it is:

The Daffodil Principle

Several times my daughter had telephoned to say, "Mother, you must come see the daffodils before they are over." I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead.
"I will come next Tuesday," I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third call.
Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I drove there. When I finally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged and greeted my grandchildren, I said, "Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch!" My daughter smiled calmly and said, "We drive in this all the time, Mother."
"Well, you won't get me back on the road until it clears, and then I'm heading for home!" I assured her.
"I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car." "How far will we have to drive?" "Just a few blocks," Carolyn said. "I'll drive. I'm used to this." After several minutes, I had to ask, "Where are we going? This isn't the way to the garage!"
"We're going to my garage the long way," Carolyn smiled, "by way of the daffodils." "Carolyn," I said sternly, "please turn around." "It's all right, Mother, I promise. You will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience." After about twenty minutes,we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a small church. On the far side of the church, I saw a hand lettered sign that read, "Daffodil Garden."
We got out of the car and each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then, we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow.
Each different colored variety was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue.There were five acres of flowers. "But who has done this?" I asked Carolyn. "It's just one woman," Carolyn answered. "She lives on the property. That's her home." Carolyn pointed to a well kept A frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory. We walked up to the house. On the patio, we saw a poster.
"Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking" was the headline.
The first answer was a simple one. "50,000 bulbs," it read.
The second answer was, "One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and very little brain."
The third answer was, "Began in 1958."
There it was, The Daffodil Principle.
For me, that moment was a life-changing experience.
I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than forty years before, had begun one bulb at a time-to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after year, had changed the world.
This unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived.
She had created something of ineffable (indescribable) magnificence, beauty, and inspiration.
The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration. That is, learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a time often just one baby step at a time-and learning to love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of time.
When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world.
"It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn. "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal thirty-five or forty years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those years. Just think what I might have been able to achieve!"
My daughter summed up the message of the day in her usual direct way.
"Start tomorrow," she said.

It always snows on the daffodils

I USED to be able to say that! Even if it was only a dusting, we always had snow in April. Everything blooming seems accelerated this year, for sure! and last night we had a pretty good frost, but no snow.





I understand rosemaries can take some cold temps. As they say, "We'll see."
I did drag indoors the 2 fancy leafed geraniums that I overwintered ('Kaleidescope')who were out on the patio.

Sorry I didn't record where I found this woodcut "April, 1922", or the artist's name.

The daffodils going crazy once more remind me of a favorite image of Nature in Dylan Thomas' poem:
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
A green fuse, so right.
However, I won't print that poem here, being not a light Spring ditty, but rather a dark rant against the ravages of Time and Nature against Men.

Here is a better poem for daffodils, maybe you'll think of it sometimes. For instance, while playing Jeopardy:
Q: For fifty points, the plural of daffodils.
Buzz. A: What is a crowd?
Host: We would have accepted host, too.
Daffodils are special to me, I associate them with my mother. The genius of this poem is the actual movement within it, movement in time, space, and mood. Like the changeable weather patterns within the inexorable turning of seasons. It's all there in one small poem.
William Wordsworth 1804

"I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD"
I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.