Rotten weather, rotten rain, rotten snow, rotten winds, rotten to the core of spring. Hate it. Hate it. That was us a week ago. The yo-yo world of spring is getting us slightly ticked off. A little bit twitchy. We may start throwing failed onions at ramblers, coming up here in all weathers in their waterproofs, at least the joggers are just mad that run past; they don't offer much of a target for the onions. Yet, in the midst of this cabin fever, howling winds, onions that failed to launch, there has been daffodils, planted a long time ago with Jenny Australia (that's not her name but this is what Little D refers to her as because [a] she's called Jenny, and; [b] she's in Australia.
Well, technically she's back home waiting to go to Australia again, any excuse to get out of some gardening, she has her boyfriend with her who we have yet to meet and sign off on. Just kidding. Little D's watching you). Earlier this year in the cottage garden we planted some more and not having Jenny there to help us was rather sad. We wish her well in Australia and thankfully Little D has stopped whispering into the floor trying to send a message to you. He now yells out the window.
Yet, daffodils, give or take four months, are instant gardening for the new and old gardener. They fill the gap between the grey of winter and the first flowers of the perennials. They come, they stay, they nod, they survive and they cheer you up no end.
Just looking at them makes your face tweak at the jaw, it travels down your cheeks into the edges of your mouth and turns a fixed stone face in the north wind to smiles of summer. You can't help but beam as the yellow beams at you.
They sing that no matter what that they will return, as will summer, as will warmth, as will long days, short nights and the promise of good food on the table. Listen, hear their song, help it to spread and plant some this year, in open ground or in pots, you can be part of the song, and there are some songs worth singing.