Spring is such an exciting time. I remember when our children were in school, one of them had a teacher that had us gather “signs of spring” like a broken bird egg or a flower for them to bring to school. Our searching would lead on long walks while we looked around at the buds on the trees and many of the early blooming flowers. This year, I was out on a trail hiking with my husband when we came across this group of daffodils that someone had planted years ago. Nearby were the remnants of an old home that was now reduced to only a few stones. I wondered how long the flowers had been there and about the people who had planted them. My thoughts meandered through several stories that I created in my head about the family that had once lived there.
Daffodils always appear in late February around us—long before we have established consistent warm weather. I admire these flowers every year for their boldness. They are one of the first groups of blooms that dare push through the soil and expose themselves to the unpredictability that exists in springtime. Even in the presence of snow, they are one of the few species of flowers that can survive and grow. I love how daffodils return year after year and create some of the first returning colors to the brown and barren landscapes. They are symbolic of rebirth and spring. They are from the Narcissus genus and there are thousands of hybrids. Some people refer to them as buttercups, but that is a different flower altogether. Calling them Jonquils is wrong as well—only one type of Daffodil is a Jonquil. Daffodil
Regardless of what we want to name them, they are a beautiful sign of hope and happiness and the signal that nature is awakening once again. I want to be more like them: bold and brave in the face of whatever may come. They remind me that whatever happens, we can keep going…push through…and still bloom where we are planted.
