Redbuds, whippoorwills and the first daffodil; in West Virginia we are lucky to have many beautiful harbingers of spring.
Things are waking up, coming back and blooming. With every new arrival in the yard, I feel a need to celebrate. Every robin at the feeder or crocus in bloom seems a reason to get out the calendar and mark the occasion.
From the first tinge of green on the willows to the pure white of the dogwoods, spring revives the senses and reminds us we are still here.
For me, the first daffodil is better than any birthday. From the time I see one break through the snow, to the first one I see blooming along the road, I'm inspired by a tenacity and beauty that is rare in the man-made world.
Daffodils are special to me. They remind me of my mothers, all of them, as far back as memories go.
I never met my great-grandmother Minnie Caroline, but her daffodils still bloom outside my window today.
By the time I came around, not a single structure still stood on our family farm, yet, every year without fail, her daffodils come up in the spring and explode in bright yellows, bringing back life to the brown grass and soggy ground.
As reliable as anything I know, I see those flowers, think of her planting them over a century ago and I'm inspired to do my part to make the world a little more beautiful.
My grandmother Violet lives along the Kanawha River in Fraziers Bottom. For decades she's been planting bulbs. Her flowerbeds overflow with crocuses and snowdrops.
Everywhere you look there is another hyacinth, muscari or tulip. On the riverbank behind her house, there is a cascade of daffodils in thick clumps, millions of them, solid, shoulder to shoulder at the top of the slope, tapering off as they go down toward the river.
Growing up I got off the school bus there.
One spring, admiring the blooms, I asked her, "Grammy, who in the world was crazy enough to go over the riverbank and plant all those flowers?"
She laughed and said, "Well, Al, I guess that was me."
I was amazed at the amount of beauty one person could spread in a lifetime.
Of course now I know she didn't plant every bulb individually. At that age I had seen the small bag of seven or so bulbs for sale at the stores in the fall and assumed that's how you did it, but Grammy taught me better.
As is the case with most planting methods and gardening tips, there are different schools of thought on how best to do things, but what I present here we'll call "The Grammy Method," and it is field-proven.
Step 1: Find an old clump of daffodils you like, the more sentimental the better. Your family probably has somewhere you consider the old home place. Wherever that is for you, that is a good place to start your bulb-collecting habit.
Step 2: Wait until after they are done blooming in the spring to dig them up. Every old clump of daffodils has hundreds of bulbs in it; don't take them all!
My personal rule is taking less than one-third of the total bulbs in any particular clump. Any more than that and it feels like robbery. Simply stick your shovel in next to the clump, straight down as deep as you can go, and pry up while holding onto the foliage. You should get dozens of bulbs in every handful.
Step 3: Go home and plant the bulbs in your own yard. Spread them out. I like a random patterns.
Plant them somewhere out in the yard where they won't get trampled. Simply stick the shovel in the ground, pry back and drop three or four bulbs in each hole roughly as deep as they were buried before. You don't even have to bend over. The foliage makes a good handle and depth gage.
Simple, right? Low maintenance, too. You really can't screw it up. They do all the growing.
I often forget where I planted them the previous year, making it all the more exciting to see where they come up. With our steep hills and erosion, you often see clumps drifting off downhill like Grammy's on the riverbank.
In some of my favorite places, people have spread daffodils unintentionally by bulldozer, leaving a random trail of them across the hillside. Really you'd be hard-pressed to kill them. I've even seen the bulbs sprout and bloom after sitting out on the ground exposed to the elements all winter.
So go plant some daffodils. Spread spring! In just the few years I've lived in my house, I've surrounded myself with daffodils, each variety a gift from a friend or a family heirloom.
Every flower is a perennial reminder of the past and a persistent herald of beauty and rejuvenation. The daffodils I plant will outlive me, and I can't think of a better legacy to leave behind than a field full of flowers.
Alex Cole is a native of Fraziers Bottom who's been landscaping all of his life and currently lives off the grid in a small, solar-powered cabin he built on a 217-acre farm that has been in his family for six generations. Alex has expertise in permaculture design, maintaining vegetable gardens, repairing riparian zones and creating all new perennial and pollinator gardens. Reach Alex at alexcole989@gmail.com.