Daffodils: Divine Delight

We live along the Shoreline of Connecticut, where daffodils are one of the hallmarks of spring. And because this particular area is generously populated by deer (thanks to hundreds of acres of salt marshes, woods and trails), daffodils are the default for our spring gardens as they are deer-resistant (unlike tulips, which apparently are particularly appetizing to deer- it is rare to see any soul foolhardy enough to plant tulips in these parts), and thus we are blessed with the riotous yellow, orange, and white masses of these blooms in every variety for miles along the shore.

On our property, we have hundreds, if not thousands, of daffodils strewn about the lawn, along our driveway, in the gardens and throughout the woods that surround our home. I can’t help but see the daffodils when I’m out preparing the gardens for the coming season. One of the previous owners of this place was a very enthusiastic (and quite talented) gardener, and left us a legacy of yellow and white to enjoy each early spring.

I, too, enjoy tilling the soil and coaxing life from the sandy, rock-laden soil which still has evidence of a long-ago melting glacier, the earth literally jam-packed with chunks of pink granite, basalt and other types of rock that would probably make any geologist swoon. During one of my early forays into the gardens in the past few weeks, I started to look closely, with a new eye and a renewed sense of child-like wonder at just how incredibly intricate and beautiful the simple things in nature actually are. In the quiet whisper of breeze and birdsong, with the distant drone of waves upon the cove’s rocky beach, it dawned on me with such sudden but wondrous clarity that there truly is a touch of the divine in every particle of the universe - seen and unseen. And what better place to study the divine than in my own small acre of splashed-yellow Divinity.

I think simple daffodils and their companion blooms of early spring reflect an inherently divine characteristic of the Creator: He delights in creation, and splashes His creativity throughout heaven and earth with wild and unrestrained abandon. To contemplate the divine, to meditate on the sacred - one only need sit and stare at a daffodil. Or an emerging crocus. It truly is that simple. That sacred.

There has been much written and talked about regarding the pandemic of 2020 - (too much, IMHO) - but there have been some silver (or golden) linings. For me, there has been a renewed (maybe even new-found) understanding of just how much every single thing - every. single. created. thing. reflects the glory, divinity, and sheer creative genius of a loving Father. The no-choice, “stay-at-home” rule of the past several months has caused me to cast my energies and reflections upon this small plot of earth and rock, and come to grips with the immense beauty of the little; of the silly, of the mundane. Restrained from wandering afar, I have learned to absorb the sacred from my gardens, my yard, my neighborhood. And you know what? It still thrills. It continues to bring awe. It continues to teach me the depth of the sacred in the simple things of life.

Nature is prolific in reflecting the wonder of creation; it doesn’t over-think the process, it isn’t embarrassed by the silly or the outrageous. It simply is. It exists for the sheer wonder of being. Daffodils sport frilly cups in wild colors, splashing bright orange against the purples and pinks of other spring flora. The spent husks of last year’s hydrangea flowers continue to boldly stand tall, even though they are aging-out and making way for the new blooms to come. Shoots of dormant perennials begin to peak through the just-thawing dirt, hesitant to burst forth too quickly lest that last, crazy New England spring snow freeze their dogged attempts to begin a new year.

I look at all of this - this riotous frenzy of new-ness and renewal that I have done absolutely nothing to generate or encourage, and know deep in my bones that God is truly the Creator of this beautiful vernal drama that entertains me and blesses me each and every spring. In our quest for a simple, sacred life, we need only focus upon the unfurling flowers, budding trees and sprouting greens to grasp the deep and timeless wisdom of earth’s essential Divinity. It’s a timeless journey, undertaken by countless humans before us.

The delightful divinity of the daffodil is a good place to start. Each and every spring.