Swirly Dresses and Daffodils

Easter was always the day to play dress-up, go to church, diligently hunt for eggs, and stuff myself with pot roast and all the trimmings. 

I vividly remember slipping into my new spring dress and sliding my little feet into shiny, white, patent leather shoes. Topping my blonde hair full of ringlets with a pastel-hued straw bonnet, I completed the outfit by pulling on new white gloves over my small hands. 

When fully dressed, my sister and I practiced twirling like ballerinas around the living room until our parents rounded us up and piled us into the car; it was time to go to church.

I first became aware of jonquils and daffodils at church. A vase stuffed with a pheasant-eye-type narcissus sat on a table in the lobby. I remember the big white petals and tiny orange cups. 

I stood on my tiptoes, straining my neck upward until my nose reached into a bright little cup. I breathed in the fragrance. It smelled terrific—the moment is permanently etched into my memory.

Every Easter, it was all about the daffodils. With many varieties and species to choose from—late or early flowers, tall or short plants, big or little cups, pink, orange, coral, peach or white hues, flouncy double, or prim and proper single blossoms. Huge, bright yellow King-Alfred-type or the daintier pheasant-eye-types are the ones I remember most. I had to have both the first time I grew them; I was searching for that fragrant memory.

I feel like a child in a candy store when I pour over the catalogs in search of some new spring delight. Every summer, I pick out a promising new breed of Narcissus or an old standby. When they arrive by mail in the fall, I plant the bulbs in pots and place them in the back until they start popping into bloom. Then I move them to center stage where I can enjoy their bright dispositions. When the flowers begin to fade, I whisk the pots away to an area where the foliage can ripen until it turns brown, assuring next year’s bloom.

Once I grow a selection, I tend to give many bulbs away, so I can grow new-fangled ones every spring. However, I am scheming about ways to plant a quantity of them permanently in the garden, as I once did, layering the dying foliage with perennials that spring out of the ground, camouflaging the daffodils past their prime.

Enjoy the rest of these darling spring bloomers:

Originally written for Rainy Side Gardeners, April 4, 2010.