Controlled Burn

Here on Waverly Lane, you never know what you're going to see next, and one evening about two weeks ago, I happened to notice that my shoreline was ablaze.

While most people might be startled at such a sight, my worn-down nerves knew that this was not necessarily an emergency.

(Even though to most normal people this screams, "EMERGENCY!")

Daughter and I calmly sprinted walked out the back door to take a closer look at the situation.  

Daughter shared the joyous occasion with friends via iPhone, no doubt with a comment like, "Oh, nothing, just finished up some supper and am now watching the blazing inferno that is my back yard."

You can't get this type of entertainment in the city--that's the lesson here, Daughter.

My father intentionally sets the shoreline afire every so often, for reasons that used to make sense but which now escape me. He takes a rake and delicately lifts burning brush onto the dead marsh grass. The fire usually stops where the green foliage begins (due to the moisture).

Although he's in good shape for his age, he gets winded easily, and, let's face it. He's not as agile and spry as he used to be. So I always worry.  But this time, thankfully, he came out unscathed. The fire went out in a hurry on its own, and we quickly returned to normal, frazzled nerves and all.

Things were normal for only a little while though.  Late last week as I was approaching Waverly Lane on my way home from work, I came face to face with the inevitable:  the tilling of the daffodil field in preparation for the corn crop.

The daffodil field full of bulbs way older than I am (and I'm no spring chicken either) was being changed forever.

Goodbye, daffodils. I will miss you terribly. Hello corn.

Click here for a 2011 post referencing Royal Colony Farm, the daffodil business my grandfather operated.

Click here for the 2012 version of Let's Have Fun Intentionally Setting Fires in One's Yard.

Happy Monday.

Daffodils

The land my parents, children and I live on was once a commercial daffodil operation known as Royal Colony Farm, run by my paternal grandfather, The General.

At one time, commercial daffodil growers were so prolific and the need for cheap labor so great that  students were let out of school early just to help pick the endless seas of yellow painting this rural county for a few weeks every year.

I learned just about every aspect of the business, from picking to packing to flower poisoning shipping.  One of my favorite things was driving the great big tractor up and down the fields picking up the bushel baskets that lay alongside the freshly picked rows.

Since this will be the fourth spring since this blog was born, there are already plenty of blog posts on the topic of daffodils without me inventing a new one. Just a small sampling (and believe me, there are plenty others) is listed below.

Click here for one of the first posts I ever did about daffodils.

Click here for a post about the difference between daffodils and buttercups, evidently a question on many people's minds because every spring Google directs them here searching for the answer.

Click here for a post that references how important daffodils were to Mathews County . This one references that oldie but goodie, the 1962 USDA Soil Survey of Mathews County, which truly is must-have reading for every household.

Flick the screen here if you're tired of me telling you to click here.

Daffodils are my very favorite flower for so many reasons.  They're such happy rays of sunshine, so welcome after too many months of cold, gray, dreary days. But most of all, they bring back very happy memories of time spent driving tractors out in the fields of Royal Colony Farm.