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Living in the Sonora desert as I do, I miss daffodils. daffodils.jpgDaffodils, not lilies, are my flowers of spring. Back in the
Midwest, I anticipated with excitement seeing the slender green reeds poking up from the snow and muck of last of winter. Then – an ocean of yellow. Yellow is the colour of April in my mind: forsythias and daffodils.

My father was not a big gardener, but I recall going out with him one October day to plant bulbs. He told me they would sleep through the winter, and come spring time at Easter we will have flowers for your mother. I remember going out nearly every day starting in February to see if they were coming up yet.

 I continued to plant bulbs every autumn. I was the “Johnny Apple seed of Jonquils”. They affirm a belief in resurrection. The world will continue and some of us would live to see the spring with its arrival of the flowers. Over the years I got fancy and planted heirloom bulbs from Wales and The Netherlands. I expanded my palate with whites, oranges and those with different coloured cups. My yards were one big wash of colour.   

I’ve often hoped to die in the spring time so there are plenty of daffodils around to throw in the coffin and be cremated with me.  I my own ashes will be compost to bring forth brighter flowers. In two weeks I go to Wisconsin to spread the ashes of the cat that died last autumn. I purposely picked the spring time to do this, hoping to see some daffodils. I want to see signs of returning life. I am much looking forward to this.



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