Daffodils

Despite the fact that it is still coat weather here, there are signs of the inevitable reappearance of spring popping up. In general, I don't look forward to the coming of spring at all. For me, it is an all too brief buffer between winter and the dreaded heat of summer. And summer seems interminable as I wait for the relief of fall.

But there is one aspect of spring that I truly enjoy and that is the emergence of all the bulb flowers, especially the daffodils. Before I moved to the Pacific Northwest, I had a fairly limited experience of daffodils. A family that lived down the road from us had an entire front yard full of naturalized daffodils. Every spring, I would walk way out of my way just to look at them. They always made me smile. They seemed so cheerful and full of hope.

When I moved up here, once again I discovered a field of daffodils. This time I had access to the field and delighted in walking through it. There was also a bench nearby, so I could spend time just enjoying the yellow flowers swaying in the breeze.

Before I moved here I didn't realize that there was such a wide variety of daffodils. The first ones to come up are the tiny, miniature daffodils. At first, I wasn't at all certain that I liked these mini-flowers. After all, they were not "my" sort of daffodil and I felt a little shortchanged by them. But in time, I began to smile at these petite blooms, recognizing them as heralds of their larger relatives.

And I was surprised to see that the larger varieties had a wide range of variation as well. There were some that had a ruffled center piece. Others had a roundish, blob-ish, center. Some had orange centers. And still others were white with pink centers.

I must confess to disliking the pink and white ones. I guess I'm a bit of a daffodil purist. Despite the fact that I'm not a huge fan of the color yellow, in my opinion, daffodils simply must be yellow. No exceptions. I have expanded my range to enjoying the various sizes and centers, but I draw the line at non-yellow daffodils.

I don't know why the daffodils attract me so much. Pansies, primroses or geraniums don't have any of the same appeal. I will admit to a fondness for tulips and lilies, too. I guess that I'm just a bulb girl at heart.

My ambition is to acquire a home with a big yard and to slowly establish my very own field of daffodils. Then, every spring, I could enjoy them to my heart's content. And perhaps, long after I'm gone, some little girl will walk past my field of daffodils and dream of a field of her own.

The turning of the year

I don't claim the label of "pagan" or "Wiccan" for myself, but the Celtic calendar's spiritual significance speaks to me. This time of year has always been my favorite and full of meaning. Perhaps observing the new year at a nonstandard time of year makes it easier for me to do so in a thoughtful manner. Whatever the reason, this is my time for reflection on what has passed and what may be coming.

In the Celtic tradition, Samhain marks a time when the veil between the physical world and the spiritual world is very thin, allowing for easier access of one side from the other. The chill in the air and the falling leaves accents this as the wind physically changes the external view of the world. Trees release their leaves, which swirl and fall, seemingly dying. And yet, the rich smell of decay as they become soaked with rain is a harbinger of new life just below the surface waiting to be called forth in the spring. Rather than seeing this as a dormant time, I see it as a pregnant waiting, nurturing life.

As one who is not only experiencing a great many transitions but also actively courting them, I consider what leaves I am dropping and what will spring from their remains. I have released a great deal of what we generally call security for the hope of new growth. But I doubt, on some level, that security even exists. Everything that we hold dear can be taken from us without notice through disease or catastrophe. And I fear that many grasp at the illusion of security only to find that they hold stagnation in their hands. So, perhaps, all I have released there is an illusion.

I have released some very solid stumbling blocks both in the physical and mental realms and risked the consequences of going against the societal grain. However, society has never particularly rewarded me for my conformity and I have only released things that were not serving me well. I have given up the illusion of acceptance for the possibility of self-actualization. So, this is my time of watching some of my illusions fall away.

What may be coming in their place, I wonder? Of that I cannot be sure. The nature of waiting through pregnancy requires general preparation with only the assurance that there is something to prepare for. The new life springing forth could have any number of different traits and characteristics. Boy, girl, tall, short, blue eyes, blond hair, bright, slow. The only thing that is known is that there is a high likelihood that new life will be coming. We cannot even know exactly when it will arrive.

So, I'm settled in for my nesting period. Wrapped in a warm shawl against the chill and eagerly awaiting what might appear at any moment.