Fw: Little yellow flowers

[Guest guest]

This is worth reading, especially if you love flowers!

Long, but well worth the reading. .

The Daffodil Principle by:Jaroldeen Asplund

Several times my daughter had telephoned to say. " Mother, you must come

and see the daffodils before they are over. " I wanted to go, but it was a

two-hour drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead. Going and coming took most of a

day--and I honestly did not have a free day until the following week.

" I will come next Tuesday, " I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third

call. Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I

drove the length of Route 91, continued on I-215, and finally turned onto

Route 18 and began to drive up the mountain highway. The tops of the

mountains were sheathed in clouds, and I had gone only a few miles when the

road was completely covered with a wet, gray blanket of fog. I slowed to a

crawl, my heart pounding. The road becomes narrow and winding toward the top

of the mountain. As I executed the hazardous turns at a snail's pace, I

was praying to reach the turnoff at Blue Jay that would signify I had arrived.

When I finally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged and greeted my

grandchildren I said, " Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is invisible

in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these

darling children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch! "

My daughter smiled calmly, " We drive in this all the time, Mother. "

" Well,

you won't get me back on the road until it clears--and then I'm heading for

home! " I assured her.

" I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car. The

mechanic just called, and they've finished repairing the engine, " she

answered.

" How far will we have to drive? " I asked cautiously. " Just a few

blocks, " Carolyn said cheerfully. So we buckled up the children and went out

to my car. " I'll drive, " Carolyn offered. " I'm used to this. "

We got into the car, and she began driving. In a few minutes I was

aware that we were back on the Rim-of-the-World road heading over the top of

the mountain. " Where are we going? " I exclaimed, distressed to be back on the

mountain road in the fog. " This isn't the way to the garage! "

" We're going to my garage the long way, " Carolyn smiled, " by way of the

daffodils. "

" Carolyn, " I said sternly, trying to sound as if I was still the mother

and in charge of the situation, " please turn around. There is nothing in the

world that I want to see enough to drive on this road in this weather. "

" It's all right, Mother, " She replied with a knowing grin. " I know what

I'm doing. I promise, you will never forgive yourself if you miss this

experience. " And so my sweet, darling daughter who had never given me a

minute of difficulty in her whole life was suddenly in charge -- and she was

kidnapping me! I couldn't believe it. Like it or not, I was on the way to see

some ridiculous daffodils -- driving through the thick, gray silence of the

mist-wrapped mountaintop at what I thought was risk to life and

limb. I muttered all the way.

After about twenty minutes we turned onto a small gravel road that

branched down into an oak-filled hollow on the side of the mountain. The Fog

had lifted a little, but the sky was lowering, gray and heavy with clouds. We

parked in a small parking lot adjoining a little stone church. From our

vantage point at the top of the mountain we could see beyond us, in the mist,

the crests of the San Bernardino range like the dark, humped backs of a herd

of elephants. Far below us the fog-shrouded valleys, hills, and flatlands

stretched away to the desert. On the far side of the church I saw a

pine-needle-covered path, with towering evergreens and manzanita bushes and

an inconspicuous, lettered sign " Daffodil Garden. "

We each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path as it

wound

through the trees. The mountain sloped away from the side of the path in

irregular dips, folds, and valleys, like a deeply creased skirt. Live oaks,

mountain laurel, shrubs, and bushes clustered in the folds, and in the gray,

drizzling air, the green foliage looked dark and monochromatic. I shivered.

Then we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped. Before me

lay the most glorious sight, unexpectedly and completely splendid. It looked

as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the

mountain peak and slopes where it had run into every crevice and over every

rise. Even in the mist-filled air, the mountainside was radiant, clothed in

massive drifts and waterfalls of daffodils. The flowers were planted in

majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep orange,

white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow. Each

different-colored variety (I learned later that there were more than

thirty-five varieties of daffodils in the vast display) was planted as a

group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique

hue. In the center of this incredible and dazzling display of gold, a

great cascade of purple grape hyacinth flowed down like a waterfall of

blossoms

framed in its own rock-lined basin, weaving through the brilliant daffodils.

A charming path wound throughout the garden. There were several resting

stations, paved with stone and furnished with n wooden benches and

great tubs of coral and carmine tulips. As though this were not magnificence

enough, Mother Nature had to add her own grace note -- above the daffodils, a

bevy of western bluebirds flitted and darted, flashing their brilliance.

These charming little birds are the color of sapphires with breasts of

magenta red. As they dance in the air, their colors are truly like jewels

above the blowing, glowing daffodils. The effect was spectacular. It did not

matter that the sun was not shining. The brilliance of the daffodils was like

the glow of the brightest sunlit day. Words, wonderful as they are, simply

cannot describe the incredible beauty of that flower-bedecked mountain top.

Five acres of flowers! (This too I discovered later when some of my questions

were answered.)

" But who has done this? " I asked Carolyn. I was overflowing with

gratitude that she brought me -- even against my will. This was a

once-in-a-lifetime experience. " Who? " I asked again, almost speechless with

wonder, " and how, and why, and when? " " It's just one woman, " Carolyn

answered. " She lives on the property. That's her home. " Carolyn pointed to a

well-kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that

glory. We walked up to the house, my mind buzzing

with questions.

On the patio we saw a poster. " Answers to the Questions I Know You Are

Asking " was the headline.

The first answer was a simple one. " 50,000 bulbs, " it read.

The second answer was, " One at a time, by one woman, two hands, two

feet, and very little brain. "

The third answer was, " Began in 1958. "

There it was. The Daffodil Principle. For me that moment was a

life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who,

more than thirty-five years before, had begun -- one bulb at a time -- to

bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. One bulb at a

time. There was no other way to do it. One bulb at a time. No shortcuts --

simply loving the slow process of planting. Loving the work as it unfolded.

Loving an achievement that grew so slowly and that bloomed for only

three weeks of each year. Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after

year, had changed the world. This unknown woman had forever changed the world

in which she lived. She had created something of ineffable magnificence,

beauty, and inspiration. The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of

the greatest principle of celebration: learning to move toward our goals and

desires one step at a time -- often just one

baby-step at a time -- learning to love the doing, learning to use the

accumulation

of time. When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily

effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change

the world.

" Carolyn, " I said that morning on the top of the mountain as we left

the haven of daffodils, our minds and hearts still bathed and bemused by the

splendors we had seen, " it's as though that remarkable woman has

needle-pointed the earth! Decorated it. Just think of it, she planted every

single bulb for more than thirty years. One bulb at a time! And that's the

only way this garden could be created. Every individual bulb had to be

planted. There was no way of short-circuiting that process. Five acres of

blooms. That magnificent cascade of hyacinth! All, all, just one bulb at a

time. " The thought of it filled my mind. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the

implications of what I had seen. " It makes sad in a way. " I admitted to

Carolyn, what might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal

thirty-five years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through

all those years. Just think what I might have been able to achieve! "

My wise daughter put the car into gear and summed up the message of the

day in her direct way. " Start tomorrow, " she said with the same knowing smile

she had worn for most of the morning. Oh, profound wisdom! It is pointless to

think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson a

celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, " How can I put this

to use tomorrow? "

[Guest guest]

Judee, thank you so much... that was beautiful... I will start tomorrow.

hugs