The Daffodil
Principle
Several times my
daughter had telephoned to say, "Mother, you must come to see the
daffodils before they are over." I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour
drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead "I will come next Tuesday", I
promised a little reluctantly on her third call.
Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and reluctantly
I drove there. When I finally walked into Carolyn's house I was welcomed
by the joyful sounds of happy children. I delightedly hugged and greeted
my grandchildren.
"Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is invisible in these clouds and
fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these children
that I want to see badly enough to drive another inch!"
My daughter smiled calmly and said, "We drive in this all the time,
Mother." "Well, you won't get me back on the road until it clears, and
then I'm heading for home!" I assured her.
"But first we're going to see the daffodils. It's just a few blocks,"
Carolyn said. "I'll drive. I'm used to this."
"Carolyn," I said sternly, "please turn around." "It's all right, Mother,
I promise. You will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience."
After about twenty minutes, we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a
small church. On the far side of the church, I saw a hand lettered sign
with an arrow that read, " Daffodil Garden ." We got out of the car,
each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then, as
we turned a corner, I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most
glorious sight.
It
looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it
over the mountain peak and its surrounding slopes. The flowers were
planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep
orange, creamy white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, and saffron and butter
yellow. Each different-colored variety was planted in large groups so
that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue.
There were five acres of flowers.
"Who
did this?" I asked Carolyn. "Just one woman," Carolyn answered. "She
lives on the property. That's her home." Carolyn pointed to a well-kept
A-frame house, small and modestly sitting in the midst of all that
glory. We walked up to the house.
On the patio, we saw a poster. "Answers to the Questions I Know You Are
Asking", was the headline.
The
first answer was a simple one. "50,000 bulbs," it read.
The second answer was,
"One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and one brain."
The third answer was,
"Began in 1958."
For me, that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this
woman whom I had never met, who, more than forty years before, had
begun, one bulb at a time, to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an
obscure mountaintop. Planting one bulb a t a time, year after year, this
unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived. One day
at a time, she had created something of extraordinary magnificence,
beauty, and inspiration. The principle her daffodil garden taught is one
of the greatest principles of celebration.
That is, learning to move
toward our goals and desires one step at a time--often just one
baby-step at time--and learning to love the doing, learning to use the
accumulation of time. When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small
increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish
magnificent things. We can change the world ...
"It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn. "What might I have
accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal thirty-five or forty
years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all
those years? Just think what I might have been able to achieve!"
My daughter summed up the message of the day in her usual direct way.
"Start tomorrow," she said.
She was right. It's so pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays.
The way to make learning a lesson of celebration instead of a cause for
regret is to only ask, "How can I put this to use today?"
