Several times my daughter had telephoned to say: ‘Mother, you must come and see the daffodils before they are over.’ I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive from my home to hers. ‘I’ll come next Tuesday,’ I promised, a little reluctantly when she asked me the third time. Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I drove there. When I finally walked into my daughter’s house, after hugging and greeting my grandchildren, I said to my daughter: ‘Let’s forget about the daffodils. The road is almost invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and the children that I want to see badly enough to drive another inch.’ My daughter smiled calmly and replied: ‘We drive in weather like this all the time, Mother.’ I replied: ‘You won’t get me back on the road until it clears, and then I’ll be heading for home!’
‘I was hoping you’d take me to the garage to pick up my car,’ my daughter said. ‘Okay, I’ll do it. How far is it?’ ‘Just a few blocks,’ came the reply. ‘I’ll drive because I’m used to the road conditions.’ I knew where the garage was and after several minutes in the car I asked: ‘Where are we going? This isn’t the way to the garage.’ ‘This time we’re going the long way round past the daffodils,’ my daughter smiled.
‘I don’t want to go there, can’t you hear me? Please turn the car round and let’s go home.’ ‘It’s all right, Mother. I promise you, you would never forgive yourself if you missed this experience.’ After another twenty minutes or so we turned onto a gravel road. At the end of it a small church came into view and on its far side a handwritten sign said: ‘Daffodil Garden’. We got out of the car, each took a child’s hand and we followed Carolyn down the path. When we turned a corner and I looked up, I gasped with astonishment at the glorious sight before me. It was as if someone had taken a huge vat of gold and poured it over the mountain peak and slopes. There were flowers everywhere. They had been planted in majestic, swirling patterns – great ribbons and swathes of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron and butter yellow. Each colour variety has been planted as a group that seemed to swirl and flow a river with its unique hue. Altogether there were five acres of flowers.
‘Who is responsible for this?’ I asked Carolyn. ‘Just one woman,’ she replied. ‘She lives on the property, it’s her home.’ My daughter pointed to a well kept house that looked tiny and very modest in the midst of the glory before us.
Walking up to the house, on the patio we found a poster that read:
‘The Answers To The Questions You Are Going To Ask’.
• 50,000 bulbs.
• One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, not much money and very little brain.
• Started in 1958.
I realised that from now on experiences of this nature would represent the Daffodil Principle for me. They would make me think of the woman who more than forty years ago had begun to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. By patiently planting one bulb at a time, year after year, she had created something of indescribable magnificence, beauty and inspiration. She truly had changed the world in which she lives and made it into a better and more beautiful place for all.
The principle behind this is one of the greatest of all. By learning to patiently move forwards towards the fulfilment of a dream one tiny step at a time, by loving what we are doing and being really interested in it, the Universal forces reward our efforts and perseverance. They smile upon us and help us to make our vision become a reality in earthly life. By combining tiny fractions of time with small but continued efforts, truly magnificent things are achievable in the fullness of time and we can indeed change our world.
I have to admit that the sight of the daffodil fields made me a bit sad, too. I couldn’t help thinking what I might have accomplished if only I had come up with a great idea thirty-five or forty years ago. What if I had worked at it ‘one bulb at a time’ in the subsequent years? It didn’t bear thinking about what I might have been able to achieve. When I told my daughter, she paused for a moment and replied: ‘Never mind. It’s not too late. How about starting tomorrow? I believe it’s pointless to think of all the lost hours of yesterday. The best way of making learning a lesson a celebration instead of a cause for regret is by asking: ‘How can I put this to use today?’
‘You can’t hit a home run unless you step up to the plate.
You can’t catch a fish unless you put your line in the water.
You can’t reach your goals if you don’t try.’
And from small acorns great oak trees grow.
Created by Anon.
Edited by Aquarius
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