My favorite flower is a daffodil. Yellow isn’t my favorite color, the blooms really don’t last that long, they only bloom for a short period of time in the Spring, and they have a very faint scent if one at all yet they are still my favorite flower. Not necessarily because of any of the characteristics of the flower but because of the memories associated with them.
My grandparents lived on a farm and in the spring there were daffodils at the farm. There were some a little bit outside my grandparents small farm house, some more in the field near the house, more near the barns…..well basically there were patches of them all over the farm. My grandmother taught me how to pick daffodils. I’m not sure if there is a wrong way but she taught me the “right” way. Gently slide your fingers all the way down to the bottom of the stem, pull up at a slight angle as to break them stem but not damage the root system, and most importantly NEVER pick all of the daffodils in a bunch. I always had to leave a few in each bunch so they would grow again the next year. Again, I have no idea if there is an scientific backing to why she taught me to pick the daffodils this way but I still do to this day.
Because I love daffodils so much, the first spring my husband and I were in our first house we owned my aunt showed up with a plastic bag that had daffodils she had dug up from the farm so I could plant them at my house. We only lived there about 3 years, but when we moved I dug the daffodils up, and planted them in a pot so I could take them with me. They lived in that pot for over a year while we moved and built our current home. During that year the “leaves” of the daffodils came up but no flowers. Sometime late spring after we moved into our house I planted the daffodil “leaves” into one of my flower beds. The next year nothing came up. Nothing at all. I assumed a squirrel or something dug up the bulb, or that it was just pretty rough on it to live through all the mess of moving and living in a pot so the bulb rotted or died.
Over the last several years nothing would come up, like I said, I figured the bulb had rotted or been eaten by a squirrel….those things are super pesky. But last year, to my surprise one lone flower bloomed where I had planted them post move. I was shocked. It brought a huge smile to my face, I showed it to my oldest son (my youngest was just an infant), told him about them being my favorite flower, etc. etc. And this year…….I’ve got 5 (three flowers and 2 buds)!!!!
It’s been an EXTREMELY busy couple of weeks with bad weather and me traveling so I have paid no attention to much of anything it seems. Kinda like living in a fog or swimming and just trying to keep my head above the water. Well earlier this week my husband says, “Hey, looks like you’ve got some daffodils out there.” And I stop….dead in my tracks, quit cooking dinner and walked outside to look at my daffodils. I stopped and took a moment to let the memories of my grandmother flood back to me (yesterday marked 16 years since her death). I stopped and inhaled the faint scent. I stopped to “smell the daffodils” and be present in that moment. And oh how I need to slow down and do that more often.