I’ve always been especially fond of daffodils. If you live in other areas of the country, your daffodils have probably already come and gone. Here in my little garden in Ohio, they are bursting out all over the place. I have added to my collection of daffodils over my 17 years of living here. I don’t remember their names, but I remember their faces. They nod and bow at me as I walk past, drinking in their gorgeous color and heady aroma! Have you ever taken the time to smell a daffodil? Oh my… The smell of daffodils instantly makes me think of my grandma. (Scroll down to the bottom of this post to see a picture of my grandma and grandpa.)
I probably got most of my appreciation for beauty and gardening from my grandma and grandpa. My grandpa was a farmer and a steel worker. They both worked hard and appreciated what the Lord had blessed them with. Holidays were spent around the big dining room table which she had dressed with the Irish linen tablecloth that was a wedding present to her mother around 1900. The table was always filled with pretty plates, glass dishes that resembled crystal, and real silver. I have so many fond memories of spending time at their farm.
When my grandma and grandpa grew too old to care for the farm, they sold it and moved into a very nice apartment. They had a little front yard and a back patio area that they could tend to. Grandpa dug up all of the daffodils from the farm and planted them in front of his apartment. I’m not sure where they originally came from, but they must have been very important to him because when he got sick with cancer, he dug them up again and planted them at our house. I was 12 when he died.
The daffodils didn’t stay at that house. My parents dug them up again and took them with us when we moved. When Ed and I bought our first house, my dad dug up the daffodils yet again and gave them to us. I planted them under the lilac bushes that lined the back of our yard. A few years later when we moved to Nashville, those daffodils came with us. And, believe it or not, they were dug up once more to come back again to Ohio when we settled in this house. They seem no worse for the wear and continue to multiply each year. I wonder if any of the original bulbs still remain? If so, they are more than 45 years old!
Just like my grandma and grandpa handed down these daffodils, a living representation of themselves, they also handed down their faith. My grandparents loved Jesus and they were in church every Sunday. My grandma taught an adult Sunday school class. She made many cakes, cookies, and pies for the bake sales. They both cleaned the church and dusted the pews. I am so grateful for their faith. And for all those daffodils!