Daffodils announce arrival of spring

Daffodils are up and ready to bloom! And when they do, what a sight it will be!

Or at least, I am hoping so.

I should have about 800 daffodils scattered all around in the woods by my house. Every fall I plant two bags of them. At an incredible bargain of $15.99 for a bag of 100 big fat King Alfred bulbs, I figure I can afford to lavish them everywhere around the property. It is an autumn ritual for me to be out in the crisp, clear air, with the warm sun on my back, a bucket full of promises, a pickaxe in hand, and a pot of steaming hot tea, planting daffodils.

The idea is to have natural drifts of them in the woods. It will be the most pleasant surprise to come home and be greeted by drifts of golden spring itself. In other words, I am trying to bring to life what the English poet Wordsworth wrote in his famous poem “Daffodils.”

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.”

I have a long way to go yet to achieve this vision. My daffodils may flutter and dance in the breeze, but there is no crowd or host of them. Somehow I suspect animals are coming behind me to undo what I have done in the woods.

Do squirrels eat daffodil bulbs? Do gophers? There are gophers everywhere here. I see their tunnels.

Have I planted the bulbs too shallow? Some may freeze or I planted them too deep. Or, I planted them just right but they sink in the loose sandy soil.

I am guilty of the neglect the bulbs suffer. I plant them and leave them completely to the mercy of the elements, never watering them once during summer draught. And watching my children play in the wood one day, I also begin to suspect a lot of them fall victim to little feet.

Despite all my suspicion, I steadily forge forward towards my vision. But most new plantings go to replenish what I lose every year. I am waiting for the multiplication to happen.

It is quite a sight to see them dotted around the woods, beneath the Ponderosa pines, around the rocks, along the driveway, under the rock bench, and beside the garden’s edge. They herald the impending glory of the season with their modest, unassuming yet uplifting and joyful cheerfulness. There is nothing that says spring more than these humble daffodils, their hardiness and cheers the very embodiment of the season itself.

When the daffodils bloom, I know winter is a distant memory. There will be summer and there will be backbreaking work in the garden and along with it, there will be a tapestry of color.

There will be quiet evenings out on the porch, wrapped by warm air perfumed with the scent of gardenia. There will be the frog’s quarrels and cricket’s chorus. There will be red-cheeked children panting in the heat. Life will be good.

And the best part of it all? Deer won’t eat them.