There is a church down the street from where I grew up that had a line of daffodils that bloomed every spring at the edge of their property, and for as long as I can remember, I picked several daffodils and would bring them home to my mother. Some may say I should have been struck down by lightning for daring to commit theft on church property, some may say that the flowers being a creation of God, I was free to take what I wanted within reason, as they are after all, just flowers.
Either way, I became an adult, and started doing the adult thing, which was buying them. For the past 20 years, I have gifted my mother daffodils every spring, a tradition I intend to keep. Always. Today, I hand-delivered this year’s bunch to my mother. I try to get ones that aren’t fully bloomed, that still need a little time before they hit their peak, so they can be enjoyed for a little longer. And when we finally move into our new home, I’ll be planting daffodils so next spring, I can gift my mother daffodils that I planted myself. Not stolen from church property, not purchased, but planted with my own two hands, watered, cared for.
When brainstorming names for the site, it came down to a choice between two: Dogwood and daffodil. Ultimately I did choose dogwood, but the name daffodil will be making appearances here and there around the site. Like dogwood, daffodil means a great deal to me.
P.S. What’s your favorite flower? Mine is the tulip!