In the spring when I see the first daffodils; my memory returns to the day I saw a carpet of yellow daffodils surrounding an old log cabin skirting the edge of newly turned field along a windy backroad in Idaho. Memories return of picking the flowers - their fragrance. But mostly the stark beauty.
I was in high school and we were on a windy backroad in Idaho. As we topped a hill, an old homestead was on the right side of the road. The old log cabin still stood at the edge of a newly turned field. The soil was dark loam. Across the road were tall trees, probably pines. But my eye was drawn to the bright yellow color surrounding the cabin.
Images spring to mind- the battered metal bucket, old log cabin, freshly turned field, tall trees, daffodils and a windy road. Not single daffodils in a small patch, but a carpet of yellow daffodils surrounding the cabin. There wasn't even a path to the door but a solid lawn of yellow daffodils.
We stopped and picked a bucket of daffodils. I was surprised to find that there were two kinds - double daffodils and regular daffodils grew together. I remember transporting that bucket of daffodils, the sloshing of water as it occasionally escaped when we hit a bump as the motorhome went down the road.
I was in high school and we were on a windy backroad in Idaho. As we topped a hill, an old homestead was on the right side of the road. The old log cabin still stood at the edge of a newly turned field. The soil was dark loam. Across the road were tall trees, probably pines. But my eye was drawn to the bright yellow color surrounding the cabin.
Images spring to mind- the battered metal bucket, old log cabin, freshly turned field, tall trees, daffodils and a windy road. Not single daffodils in a small patch, but a carpet of yellow daffodils surrounding the cabin. There wasn't even a path to the door but a solid lawn of yellow daffodils.
We stopped and picked a bucket of daffodils. I was surprised to find that there were two kinds - double daffodils and regular daffodils grew together. I remember transporting that bucket of daffodils, the sloshing of water as it occasionally escaped when we hit a bump as the motorhome went down the road.
Makes you wonder who planted them. Nice word picture of a great memory.
ReplyDeleteWhat a vivid picture you paint. It would be interesting to know the history behind all of those doaffodils.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful to imagine, Ruth. I've driven with my husband in the county, especially in Missouri, and sometimes we would see tulips or daffodils in a place where there was nothing. When we walked to them, we often could find an old stoop, the only remains of a house. Your piece reminded me of that-poignant to think about the lives lived there.
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