FOODFORTHOUGHT

THE DAFFODIL PRINCIPLE

Author Unknown

October 1, 2012

Several times my daughter had telephoned to say, "Mother, you must come see
the daffodils before they are over." I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour
drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead.

"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
there. 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 children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch!"

My daughter smiled calmly and said, "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."

"How far will we have to drive?"

"Just a few blocks," Carolyn said. "I'll drive. I'm used to this."

After several minutes, I had to ask, "Where are we going? 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, "please turn around."

"It's all right, Mother, I promise. You will never forgive yourself if you
miss this experience."

After about twenty minutes, we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a
small church. On the far side of the church, I saw a hand-lettered sign
that read, "Daffodil Garden." We got out of the car and each took a child's
hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then, we turned a corner of the
path, and I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight.
It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down
over the mountain peak and slopes. 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 was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own
river with its own unique hue. There were five acres of flowers.

"But who has done this?" I asked Carolyn.

"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. 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 forty years
before, had begun-one bulb at a time-to bring her vision of beauty and joy
to an obscure mountain top. 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
(indescribable) magnificence, beauty, and inspiration. The principle her
daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration.

That is, learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a
time-often just one baby-step at a time-and 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.

"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 or forty 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 daughter summed up the message of the day in her usual direct way. "Start
tomorrow," she said. It's so pointless to think of the lost hours of
yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson of celebration instead of a
cause for regret is to only ask, "How can I put this to use today?"