As I was driving up the hill today to make my weekly "farm fresh" run I saw homes. Many homes. Many old and quaint little colonial, early American homes. They were all so cute and had such character. Some of them had porches canted to one side - not conducive to playing marbles. Some had roofs that were growing moss. Some had doors that no longer fit straight in their jams. They were all cute. They all spoke of ages past. And they all had masses of DAFFODILS!
Why? Why? I ask you. My neighbor has blooming daffies, every house in a 50 mile radius from mine has daffies! I have daffie leaves. Not a bud. Not a bloom. Just leaves. Why? Again I ask. Why?
Should I sneak next door in the dead of night and cut some for my table? Or should I politely knock on the door and beg shamelessly for a few to grace my home? Or, rather than attack one house, and one so close to home mind you, I could drive the back roads and cut one or two from every cute frickin' little house I pass on my way!
All I have to say about this little rant is "Where Are My Daffodils?"