Getting Stitched on the Farm

Springtime Memories

My dad Archibald Nicholas Jr. died the 21st of December 2004 (the day of the winter solstice). Last fall I planted 1000 spring bulbs in his memory in the lawn and gardens outside our farmhouse. Dad was a gardener so I thought what better memory to have of him every year than spring flowers. All winter, I have been anticipating their blooms - they are finally poppng! Here’s the first bouquet I picked.

My dad used to carry this poem in his wallet and read it to his friends. If you knew my dad from afar, you would be really surprised to know this. But then everyone has a side they don’t show, don’t they? I know that whoever lives on this land 100 years from now won’t know about my dad but they sure will enjoy the blossoms!

The Daffodils
By William Wordsworth (1804)

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.