Around the mostly rural area dotted with small towns where I grew up, daffodils were ubiquitous. There were no impressively designed massive swaths or huge naturalized plantings, but almost every house had a clump or two of these dancing yellow flowers announcing spring.
Driving in the country nowadays past these old homesteads, many of them abandoned over time as owners died out and children moved elsewhere, one sees the evidence of past lives. Even if the buildings are long gone, there is almost always a towering oak tree near where the house once stood and nearby, a patch of daffodils.
One spring as we passed by a stretch of road we had travelled for many years, I pointed out to my husband just such an old homesite. I never knew who had lived there, but the cheerful daffodils blooming near the old drive was a sight I knew to expect and watch for. Those flowers had greeted me annually, as they must have the family that once inhabited the property. Intrigued, my husband wrote this poem.
Daffodils
Within this clearing rife with weeds,
No homely headstones stand askew,
But daffodils in patches tell
That here once worked a hand, a heart,
And there once stood a house, a home.
No headstones set this ground apart,
But daffodils in patches tell
Of heart and home as sure as bones.
(DVM, v.G, April 2007)
pbmGarden 
Moving words… my Grandfather (who was a farmer) planted them in various places around his village after retiring, and they always remind me of him. Please tell your husband how much I like his poem. 😀
I passed along your comment to my husband, thanks! It’s special that you have the daffodils as a reminder of your grandfather. I imagine the other villagers appreciate his efforts too.
Beautiful words to go with lovely photos. We humans leave our mark on the landscape long after we are gone, how wonderful that your farmers left such a beautiful legacy.
Yes, poignant reminders of the past. Hope you’re doing well Pauline.
That is what I miss here in Italy, in the UK every house (even with completely non gardening owners) had they share of daffodils, every rounderbout, every public planting, every road verge, daffodils heralded spring here mainly because there is not always enough cold weather there are no daffodils. SO SAD. Chrisitna
Lovely images and a POEM! Long ago my father had a large daffodil farm in Northern California that we would visit as children. A recent trip revealed that a subdivision had long overtaken that land but daffodils were everywhere, medians, parking strips,wooded areas, their yellow heads poking through made me recall those happy times.
Hi Linda. I love that your father’s daffodils have persisted through adversity. Would love to hear more about that sometime. Look out your window–just started snowing!
Christina, That is a loss not to be able to grow daffodils there. I’ve never lived very far from where I grew up, but I even when I travel I miss the landscape of home.
Just adore the wild growing daffs of abandoned homesteads…that poem is fabulous!
Really glad you enjoyed the poem Donna. There are so many housing developments extending out into the once rural areas there are fewer and fewer old homesites left, but they are treasures.
This is such an endearing post. I loved the photographs and pausing to think about the homes that are now gone but have left their signature of daffodils. I hope the poet in your family continue to write after achieving this lovely tribute.
Stepheny, so glad you enjoyed it. From having read your wonderful novel I know you understand how people might be remembered by what they have planted, whether it be a vicar’s garden or several daffodil bulbs.
Nothing gives you a hint that spring is coming like daffodils. They are hard to kill even when we abandon them at a corner of our garden. The daffs you posted looked pretty well mulched.
Thanks! I planted a few more daffodils this year, something I’d been meaning to do for a few years. We can all use that reassurance Spring is coming, can’t we?
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Thanks for the reference to my Daffodil article Sue! Susie