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Favorite Story (get your hanky out)

Timeout
22 years ago

I saw this on another site recently...had to share it with y'all:

THE DAFFODIL PRINCIPLE

by: Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards

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 Laguna to Lake Arrowhead. Going and coming took most of a day--and I honestly did not have a free day until the following week.

"I will come next Tuesday, " I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third call.

Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I drove the length of Route 91, continued on I-215, and finally turned onto Route 18 and began to drive up the mountain highway. The tops of the mountains were sheathed in clouds, and I had gone only a few miles when the road was completely covered with a wet, gray blanket of fog. I slowed to a crawl, my heart pounding. The road becomes narrow and winding toward the top of the mountain. As I executed the hazardous turns at a snail's pace, I was praying to reach the turnoff at Blue Jay that would signify I had arrived. When I finally walked into Carolyn's house and hugged and greeted my grandchildren I said, "Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these darling children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch!"

My daughter smiled calmly," We drive in this all the time, Mother."

"Well, you won't get me back on the road until it clears--and then I'm heading for home!" I assured her.

"I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car. The mechanic just called, and they've finished repairing the engine," she answered.

"How far will we have to drive?" I asked cautiously.

"Just a few blocks," Carolyn said cheerfully.

So we buckled up the children and went out to my car. "I'll drive," Carolyn offered. "I'm used to this." We got into the car, and she began driving.

In a few minutes I was aware that we were back on the Rim-of-the-World Road heading over the top of the mountain. "Where are we going?" I exclaimed, distressed to be back on the mountain road in the fog. "This isn't the way to the garage!"

"We're going to my garage the long way," Carolyn smiled, "by way of the daffodils."

"Carolyn," I said sternly, trying to sound as if I was still the mother and in charge of the situation, "please turn around. There is nothing in the world that I want to see enough to drive on this road in this weather."

"It's all right, Mother," She replied with a knowing grin. "I know what I'm doing. I promise, you will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience."

And so my sweet, darling daughter who had never given me a minute of difficulty in her whole life was suddenly in charge -- and she was kidnapping me! I couldn't believe it. Like it or not, I was on the way to see some ridiculous daffodils -- driving through the thick, gray silence of the mist-wrapped mountaintop at what I thought was risk to life and limb.

I muttered all the way. After about twenty minutes we turned onto a small gravel road that branched down into an oak-filled hollow on the side of the mountain. The Fog had lifted a little, but the sky was lowering, gray and heavy with clouds.

We parked in a small parking lot adjoining a little stone church. From our vantage point at the top of the mountain we could see beyond us, in the mist, the crests of the San Bernardino range like the dark, humped backs of a herd of elephants. Far below us the fog-shrouded valleys, hills, and flatlands stretched away to the desert.

On the far side of the church I saw a pine-needle-covered path, with towering evergreens and manzanita bushes and an inconspicuous, lettered sign "Daffodil Garden."

We each took a child's hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path as it wound through the trees. The mountain sloped away from the side of the path in irregular dips, folds, and valleys, like a deeply creased skirt.

Live oaks, mountain laurel, shrubs, and bushes clustered in the folds, and in the gray, drizzling air, the green foliage looked dark and monochromatic. I shivered. Then we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight, unexpectedly and completely splendid. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes where it had run into every crevice and over every rise. Even in the mist-filled air, the mountainside was radiant, clothed in massive drifts and waterfalls of daffodils. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow.

Each different-colored variety (I learned later that there were more than thirty-five varieties of daffodils in the vast display) was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue.

In the center of this incredible and dazzling display of gold, a great cascade of purple grape hyacinth flowed down like a waterfall of blossoms framed in its own rock-lined basin, weaving through the brilliant daffodils.

A charming path wound throughout the garden. There were several resting stations, paved with stone and furnished with Victorian wooden benches and great tubs of coral and carmine tulips. As though this were not magnificence enough, Mother Nature had to add her own grace note -- above the daffodils, a bevy of western bluebirds flitted and darted, flashing their brilliance. These charming little birds are the color of sapphires with breasts of magenta red. As they dance in the air, their colors are truly like jewels above the blowing, glowing daffodils. The effect was spectacular.

It did not matter that the sun was not shining. The brilliance of the daffodils was like the glow of the brightest sunlit day. Words, wonderful as they are, simply cannot describe the incredible beauty of that flower-bedecked mountain top.

Five acres of flowers! (This too I discovered later when some of my questions were answered.) "But who has done this?" I asked Carolyn. I was overflowing with gratitude that she brought me -- even against my will. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

"Who?" I asked again, almost speechless with wonder, "And how, and why, and when?"

"It's just one woman," Carolyn answered. "She lives on the property. That's her home." Carolyn pointed to a well-kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory.

We walked up to the house, my mind buzzing with questions. On the patio we saw a poster. " Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking" was the headline. The first answer was a simple one. "50,000 bulbs," it read. The second answer was, "One at a time, by one woman, two hands, two feet, and very little brain." The third answer was, "Began in 1958."

There it was. The Daffodil Principle.

For me that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than thirty-five years before, had begun -- one bulb at a time -- to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. One bulb at a time.

There was no other way to do it. One bulb at a time. No shortcuts -- simply loving the slow process of planting. Loving the work as it unfolded.

Loving an achievement that grew so slowly and that bloomed for only three weeks of each year. Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after year, had changed the world.

This unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived. She had created something of ineffable magnificence, beauty, and inspiration.

The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principle of celebration: learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a time -- often just one baby-step at a time -- learning to love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of time.

When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world.

"Carolyn," I said that morning on the top of the mountain as we left the haven of daffodils, our minds and hearts still bathed and bemused by the splendors we had seen, "it's as though that remarkable woman has needle-pointed the earth! Decorated it. Just think of it, she planted every single bulb for more than thirty years. One bulb at a time! And that's the only way this garden could be created. Every individual bulb had to be planted. There was no way of short-circuiting that process. Five acres of blooms. That magnificent cascade of hyacinth!

All, all, just one bulb at a time."

The thought of it filled my mind. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the implications of what I had seen. "It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Carolyn. "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal thirty-five years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those years. Just think what I might have been able to achieve!"

My wise daughter put the car into gear and summed up the message of the day in her direct way. "Start tomorrow," she said with the same knowing smile she had worn for most of the morning. Oh, profound wisdom!

It is pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson a celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, "How can I put this to use tomorrow?"

Comments (13)

  • kjhult_premier1_net
    22 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    A gorgeous vision. Thank you.

  • Timeout
    Original Author
    22 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    I like that line: "Start tomorrow"!

    It reminds me of the end of Private Ryan..."Earn this".

  • messngom_aol_com
    22 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    A lovely story. Thanks for sharing!

  • nmelzer_intergate_ca
    22 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    Great story! I've heard of this mountain, but can you tell us exactly where it is? Nearest town, and the state? I'm not familiar with the roads you've mentioned.

  • Timeout
    Original Author
    22 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    Nora: This story isn't about ME! I just posted it from another site. The author's name is right under the title.

    Lake Arrowhead is northeast of Los Angeles...I think it's in the San Bernadino Mtns. near Big Bear. I don't even know if this daffodil garden exists...but if it doesn't, I don't want to know.

  • Timeout
    Original Author
    22 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    I did a search on Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards. I gather she's Mormon...her publisher is Deseret Press. And the only book review I found was on "Hanna, Mormon Midwife". I gather from the story that she lives (lived?) in Laguna Beach, south of Los Angeles.

  • jenniferw3
    21 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    THANKS FOR READYING THAT TO EVERYONE. I DON'T NOW EXCATELY WERE YOUR AT IN THE MOUNTAINS IN THE STORY.BUT ARE MOUNTAINS ARE BEAUTIFULL UP THERE. THAT IS THE SAN BERNARDINO MOUNTAINS IN CALIFORNIA.
    THANKS WE ENJOY THE BEAUTY OF THE MOUNTAINS JENNIFER

  • thedaffodilgarden
    21 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    The garden in the San Bernardino Mountains in Southern California is alive and well -- and RIGHT NOW in full bloom!

    Lots of updated info on the daffodil garden:
    http://www.geocities.com/thedaffodilgarden/

    It is breath-taking. If you live in Southern California, go see it for yourself.

    Here is a link that might be useful: The Daffodil Story

  • klimkm
    20 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    Reminds me of an area in our neighborhood. We call it the "Secret Garden". It is a two acre site or so. It used to be part of an estate and whoever owned it at one time planted it with bulbs and wildflowers like crazy. It is so beautiful in the spring.
    But the man sold his property to a large firm who developed the land as a conference center. This particular area of the property is still wild though and beautiful. We try and sneak in and see it in the spring, the company has never chased us off. But the neighbor to this property is a real crank and he always give us problems when we visit, even though we are just looking.
    It is a shame because it is becoming overgrown and one of these years soon, it will be gone. Inspired by your story, maybe I can do the same to our yard.

  • kcphillips
    20 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    Hi. The daffodil gardens are in Running Springs, in the San Bernardino Mountains between Lake Arrowhead and Big Bear. For those unfamiliar with the area, we're in Southern California, about 70 miles east of Los Angeles. To get there (from Los Angeles area), you would take I-10 east to Highway 30 west to Highway 330 exit. About 15 miles up the mountain to Running Springs. Turn right at Fredalba Road, park at St. Anne's in the Mountains Catholic Church, and follow the signs. Too late for this year, but make plans to visit next spring--it's beautiful. Five years ago the whole area was burned out in a forest fire, and everyone wondered if the daffodils would return. The following spring, the blackened mountain was covered with thousands of daffodils and other flowers. It was quite a sight. So, if you plan to be in Southern California next spring, it's well worth the trip.

    --Karen

  • Violet_Girl
    20 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    I am not sure if I got this story right, it's been a while since I heard it. But it is true.

    There once was a little boy, maybe eight or nine, who wanted to be a gymnast. He spent hours on his jungle gym and monkey bars, building his strength and training himself to do things. That was his only goal, to be a famous gymnast like Olga- she was his hero. (I forget her last name. She won a gold medal in the olympics, I think.) However, he contracted a disease that weakened and eventually killed him before he turned eleven.His parents, naturally were heartbroken to watch him suffer, but even more so in understanding that his one dream would never come true.
    One year after he died, they happened to look at the mokey bars, now sadly empty. But underneath the bars, where the earth was packed as hard as iron, were two blood-red lilies. It was as if he was saying, "It's okay, mom and dad, I am fine. I can do things here that I could never do at home."
    The lilies never bloomed again.

  • julietoad
    17 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    what months are the daffodils in bloom? this sounds amazing and would be willing to make a trip to see it but want to make sure they're in full bloom. thank you.

  • nvilla_hawaii_rr_com
    13 years ago
    last modified: 9 years ago

    Are the photos available anywhere now in 2011?