Read by Matilda Longbottom

The minister gazed thoughtfully over his congregation and asked, “What will be your legacy?” Naturally, we all mumbled, scratched our heads, and avoided eye contact like we’d just been asked to do a pop quiz. He continued, “I know a man who wanted to leave something behind for others to enjoy, so he planted hundreds of daffodil bulbs on a hillside next to a busy highway. Every Spring, people go out of their way just to see that legacy in full bloom, and they’re grateful.”

Now, I may not be much of a poet, but you know who was? William Wordsworth. Remember his famous line, “I wandered lonely as a cloud,” where he stumbles upon a “host of golden daffodils.” And Sara Coleridge wasn’t far behind with “March brings breezes, loud and shrill, to stir the dancing daffodil.” Poets just can’t resist these golden trumpeters of Spring.

And who could blame them? Open any flower catalog and you’ll see page after page of daffodils in all shapes and colors. They aren’t all sunshine yellow, either! One of my favorites has white petals with a blush of pink in the center—like a daffodil got caught daydreaming about being a ballerina.

As Winter finally packs its bags and leaves, taking the muddy mess of snow with it, daffodils pop up, those little bursts of sunshine on stems. They rise from ugly brown bulbs buried in the mud, transforming like a miracle of nature. Daffies surround trees like a golden crown, twinkle along paths like tiny earthbound stars, and generally act like the overachievers of the flower world.

Sure, they may look delicate with their papery petals, but don’t let that fool you. Daffodils are like the flower kingdom’s version of a marathon runner. Frozen soil? No problem. Whipping winds and torrential downpours? Bring it on! They bloom through it all, refusing to let a little bad weather get in the way of their grand entrance.

In the Victorian era, flowers had their own secret language. Daffodils symbolized everything from unrequited love to a grand announcement. March wouldn’t be March without them, and those Victorians knew it.

Back when I taught creative writing, I had my students study a single daffodil. Their task? Give it names, shapes, and meanings. We spent far too long trying to figure out what to call that brown, papery wrap around the stem. Then one student, full of brilliance, yelled, “It’s a scarf!” A daffodil with fashion sense—who knew?

I always dreamed of planting my own little legacy of daffodils in our yard. One day, opportunity struck! The landscapers at my office were yanking out half-dead daffodils by the truckload, tossing them into the dumpster like yesterday’s leftovers. I couldn’t help myself. With the glee of a kid in a candy store, I rescued as many as I could—free daffodils, people! I hauled them home, ready to plant them, nurture them, and love them forever.

Little did I know that planting daffodil bulbs is no joke. Let’s just say after spacing out hundreds of bulbs two inches apart, my enthusiasm for daffodils began to wane. (Pro tip: When they say “daffodils are low maintenance,” they don’t mean at the planting stage.)

At least I had one victory: deer and rodents don’t like daffodil bulbs. But what about the bunnies? Heavy rains soon followed, and I watched in horror as the tips of my bulbs started to rise out of the soil like tiny gravestones. A few brave daffodils eventually bloomed, and I rushed to cut them for vases, where even the stems looked like they were posing for a crystal vase ad.

These days, I take a more relaxed approach. I buy my daffodils from farmstands or the American Cancer Society. Their sweet, waxy scent never fails to make me smile, and their sunny faces can brighten even the gloomiest day.

So, here’s to the dazzling daffodil—our little trumpeter of Spring. Whether you rescue them from dumpsters, grow them in your garden, or pick them up at a farmstand, they’ll turn any cloudy moment into a cheerful one. ❖

About the Author: Hannah Dougherty Campbell, a spirited wordsmith with a heart as lush as her garden, hails from the suburbs of Philadelphia. Inspired by the beauty of nature and the resilience of the human spirit, Hannah found solace and creativity in crafting heartfelt poetry. With a background in teaching and a passion for nurturing creativity, she imparts her wisdom through her creative writing classes, where she encourages others to explore the depths of their souls through the written word. Her cherished tradition of assigning flowers to personalities has blossomed into a family heirloom, enriching the lives of her loved ones and students alike. Through her work, she reminds us all of the delicate dance between nature and humanity, where every petal tells a story and every soul blooms in its own unique way.