Holland

The first of the tulips are up, unfurling petals like the strokes of a water-colored canvas. I love the way they look just before they open. Wouldn’t it be fun to peak inside the tightly coiled flower? Do you think they have a secret to tell?

In a few more days they’ll open revealing a colorful, reproductive center. Then quietly, one by one, the petals drop and the tulip is done for the season. If you went on an ill-timed vacation you could miss the whole thing.

I have a dear friend who attends the Skagit Valley Tulip Festival most years. She has several pictures showing rows and rows of growing tulips and a few with her posing among the rows. I have to giggle at my excitement over a pair of tulips, when I think of that sea of flowers. Perhaps I’ll get to go one day, too. For now, I’m enjoying the pair of tulips in the planter on my back steps, marveling at nature’s perpetual beauty.

Potted tulips

Ready to spring forth

For Kecker

I was feeling a little blue yesterday, so what better way to bring cheer than flowers. Yellow flowers really brighten a room, especially in the middle of January. Further, nothing says “spring is coming!” like daffodils.

The small potted bulbs were an impulse purchase, but I bought them without remorse. (Okay I’m a bit remorseful that I left a Weight Watchers meeting and bought dark chocolate-covered pomegranate seeds, but it was the daffodils I went in for.) I lost weight so why wouldn’t I celebrate with a bit of heart-healthy dark chocolate?

I digress.

Daffodils (narcissus) originated in Spain and Portugal, though it was Holland that perfected the bulb trade. According to American Meadows “over nine billion flower bulbs are produced each year in Holland, and about 7 billion of them are exported, for an export value of three-quarters of a billion dollars. According to the Netherlands Flower Bulb Information Center, the USA is the biggest importer of Dutch bulbs.”

I guess I’m not the only flower-lover making impulse purchases! William Wordsworth says it best:

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Daffodils, by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed–and gazed–but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.