Re: The Daffodil Principle

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This is long, and some of you may find it a bit sappy.  But it is well worth
reading for the description of the amazing garden (and gardener).  
--Janis

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The Daffodil Principle

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, hand
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 Victorian
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 principles 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!

And 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 me 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 smiles 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?"

                            Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards
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