Yesterday I was walking back from the train, passing through our local park. Along the path, in clumps here and there, daffodils bloomed. Some were planted under trees, others along a fence or down by the pond. It was a cold day but felt like Spring. Perhaps because I lived in England, daffodils are the flower that really mean springtime to me. For the literary among you, Wordsworth’s poem about Daffodils captures the feeling. I’m lucky that it’s the case in New Jersey too.
But the different thing about these particular daffodils blooming in the park, is that I planted them with my kids. Early on Autumn mornings, we went out and secretly cut back flaps of turf, hid the bulbs underneath, and folded back the grass to leave little trace of what we’d done. This guerrilla gardening especially appealed to my oldest who cooked up the idea that the gardening police would come for us if we got caught. My youngest, on the other hand, stopped every dog walker that went by–saying, “This is my dad. Can I pet your dog? We’re planting flowers. What’s your name?”
In the couple of years that we’ve been doing this, only one person has stopped and asked what we’re doing. And when we explained, she asked, “Can you do that?”
“Sure,” I said, shovel and bucket in hand.
“Maybe I will too, then,” she said, walking away.
So, now I don’t really know if I planted the daffodils I see or if someone else did, but I do know they make the walk to and from the train that much nicer–which was part of the point anyhow.
I guess I could make some connection here to business and life in general, but I’ll let you do that if you like. Enjoy Spring.