The daffodils are in full swing here in Mathews, and ordinarily this is a welcome sight for me.
My family's property was once a daffodil farm, courtesy of my paternal grandfather Gustave H. Vogel,
who operated his business under the name of Royal Colony Farms.
I grew up expecting these cheerful flowers every spring.
My first official job besides cutting grass was picking, packing and shipping flowers for him.
He's been gone a long time, but every year his flowers return along with
a flood of pleasant childhood memories.
This year, for reasons that make sense logically--including the fact that neither my father nor I can possibly maintain the fields which require mowing twice a year--will be the last year these fields will bring forth the cheerful yellow blossoms.
My father is leasing the land to someone who will farm it for corn and/or soybeans.
This will require tilling up the land to prepare the soil for planting.
Which means no more daffodils.
This saddens me beyond words, although I know it must happen.
I've transplanted a few, but it is backbreaking work for one person.
I would move them all if I could, but alas I cannot.
In the mean time, I am picking them as fast as possible and sharing them with coworkers and friends.
Believe it or not, I chose daffodils for today's post because I wanted to share something cheerful.
But for the first time in my life, the sight of daffodils saddens me.
Click here for my mother's blog post on my grandfather that includes
a picture of him and Baby Sis picking daffodils along the fields of Waverly Lane.