Narcissus

I love daffodils! Maybe because they are such bright yellows and oranges, at a time of year when everything is dull and dead. Or because I bought a mixed bag of bulbs 6 years ago when we moved to Kershader, planted them in an old lazy-bed and every year they produce more and more flowers for free.  Or perhaps because things are so much more beautiful when they have meaning.

I love that every bulb could turn out to be a different variant - it might be bright gold with a trumpet in the middle. Varigated with a mix of colours or have many heads sprouting from just one stalk.

The classic trumpet shaped dafodil is called the narcissus. It is frequently linked to the myth of Narcissus who became so obsessed with his own reflection in water that he drowned and the narcissus plant sprang from where he died.

Alternative names through time have been 'Daffadown Dilly' or 'Lent Lily', a signal from nature of the end of the Christian period of abstinence before Easter.

The old lazy-bed with its rich soil is ideal

I planted our bulbs when we had first moved in and were planning how to make some money from our croft. I had the idea to sell bunches of unopened daffs, so that people would also buy the surprise of not knowing what type of flower they would get.  This year I nearly managed to make some bunches to sell at a school fundraiser, but so far my golden daffodils have not produced any actual gold!

But they are so well suited to the rough grass of our croft.  Before we sorted out our fencing, we were constantly plagued with stray sheep eating everything we planted.  But the one thing they dont eat are daffodils.  Once we had stopped the sheep getting in, we then found that the indigenous grasses grew so quickly that anything we planted immediately was taken over by weeds. Except the daffodils which burst through even the thickest grass.

In fact the more I think about 'daffadown dillys', the more meaning I find.  I'm glad such a humble flower has been immortalised by an expert of communication.   William Wordsworth wrote this after a moment with his sister Dorothy, when they 'came across a long belt' of daffodils - I know how he feels, my long lazy-bed of colour inspires me to write as well.

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.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.