Daffodils take me back to my five-year-old self, when I picked the flowers for my kindergarten teacher from my Mom’s carefully tended beds, wrapped the stalks with a dripping wet paper towel, then crumpled aluminum foil around the stalks as a makeshift vase til I could get them to school and proudly thrust them at my teacher.

Mom loved her beds of bright yellow daffodils and deep purple hyacinths. I loved watching the plants sprout through layers of pine needles, sometimes through remains of snow, and made bets with myself guessing how long it would be before the buds blossomed. I never was right, though I told myself I was.

I love that daffodils have such a scant smell. A sweet one, though. One of memories. One of winter ending and spring just arriving. One of happiness and joy to come.

One thought on “Daffodils

  1. I love daffodils too. They are so pretty. Sadly we live too far north for them to survive here. My Grandpa was a dutch immigrant and in his retirement years he planted daffodils in large areas, allowing them to spread along the roadside and alongside his large pond. Can’t think of anything prettier than a patch of daffodils!

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