When the Daffodils began to bloom, I know Spring has arrived. Over the past week I've noticed Daffodils blooming everywhere-in my yard-as well as along the roadsides.
Each spring, I ponder the Daffodil blooms I see in fields or in wooded areas-in other words blooming in the middle of no where-yet sending out a strong and mighty signal that someone once lived there.
I recently read an article on the history of Daffodils in America. The first settlers of the north east brought the tiny bulbs to the new world-women sewed the bulbs into the hems of their dresses-making sure to bring a little piece of their past to the future that awaited them.
I see Daffodils bloom on the road leading to my home-I know they were planted by my Mamaw or maybe even by her Mother-the flowers have out lasted them both.
Down the road, a shower of Daffodils bloom on the bank beside the road-Pap tells me my great Aunt Dude and Uncle Ot used to live in a little house there, but as long as I can remember it's only been a bank.
Farther down the road, a massive amount of Daffodils bloom inside a cow pasture-Pap tells me when he was boy there was a store there-but as long as I can remember only cattle have frequented the spot.
Daffodils are such bright hopeful harbingers of Spring to me-but obviously I'm not alone in my feelings. The ladies of New England who thought enough of the Daffodils to sew them into their dresses-they knew the power of hope and renewal that occurs each spring. I believe all Daffodil planters of the past knew something about it too.