A Mānoa Girl's Bloggie

Growing up in Hawaiʻi, I can’t remember ever hearing or reading about daffodils, and I can’t say when I saw my first one. But after I moved to the mainland, I was hooked. I fell in love with their bright colors, the way they danced in the breeze, and that there were so many different varieties of them. I always bought bulbs in the autumn, and rejoiced when they began poking their first green leaves through the ground in the spring.

When we lived in California for several years, every spring we’d take our girls and drive up to Daffodil Hill in Sutter Creek, owned by a wonderful man who owned acres and acres of daffodils. He’d been injured in WW2 (I think), and though he’d been badly injured, he and his wife planted many daffodils, showing year after year that beauty exists wherever you are. We were honored to have met him in person. The five of us wandered slowly through the daffodils, marveling at their beauty and abundance, and hearing . It’s hard to describe how beautiful the whole area was, with over 300,000 daffodils blooming. I could’ve stayed their all spring!