We strolled tonight. Through a million daffodils. They were of every shape and color, size and variety. I like these white ones. I think they’re called “Ice Queens” or “Ice Wings” or something spectacular. And there was delicious food. And wonderful wine. It was cold. A little like Thanksgiving in April. But we strolled with great friends, and met some new ones along the way.
As our Facebook recently posted:
“What a wonderful evening attending the Daffodil Stroll at the Griesse’s beautiful farm. We were delighted to win at auction an exquisite holiday dinner party hosted by the Greisse’s at their home with our contribution going to support the Robbins Hunter Museum, a local cultural and historical treasure. Thank you for a wonderful time, old and new friends!”
On a personal note, I find daffodils to be interesting flowers. And I can’t say why. Perhaps it’s because they look like the Mario Bros. monster that shoots fireballs from its mouth. Maybe it’s because they’re the first colors of the year to blanket our lawns. It’s odd because they don’t smell especially wonderful. Once cut they last about as long as John Travolta after spending three days at sea. But they’re vibrant, they reproduce, and they’re harbingers of a summer to come. And oddly enough, a million daffodils, and not a single tulip in sight.
We awoke the fireplace in Orchard House tonight. It’s that cold. I look forward to the days when warmth will once again greet us and shun the clouds of doom. Baby Waterloo seconds the motion. He’s tired of Gene Kelly-ing it through the pasture puddles. But the ducks are loving it. Like they’re back in the Indonesian rice paddies. I love them. And they love water. And I let them in the water, so, i.e., they love me.