Easter is a time to think of rebirth and to create wonderful Easter memories with loved ones. And maybe to laugh a little. This article, about an Easter flower that grew in a most unexpected way, will have you laughing at one of the author’s favorite Easter memories.
The Easter Daffodil
In these days of shifting moral values, declining economies, and unusual jelly bean flavors, I thought an article about my most memorable Easter flower would be a welcome change. After all, how scary can an Easter flower be? Certainly not as anxiety producing as a jelly bean flavor called, “Skunk Spray.”
Two years ago, I decided to plant a flower that would bloom as a symbol of Easter. Unfortunately, other people must have had the same idea and the choices at the garden center consisted of Peruvian daffodils or Peruvian daffodils. What, hadn’t they ever heard of Easter lilies?
I purchased a sack of two for $20.00, which seemed a little expensive, but hey, they came all the way from Peru and somebody had to pay for their flight. I drove through the dark, envisioning the beauty of my flowers in the weeks to come. When I arrived home, I hauled out an old clay pot. It didn’t look very Eastery, but I refused to rummage around in the shed-where at night spiders morphed into creatures the size of hippopotami-to find another flowerpot.
After accidentally dumping half the potting soil in the sink, and the other half on Bud Slug, the dog-who thought it was some kind of treat from heaven and proceeded to eat it-I managed to get a cup of soil in the pot.
My husband, Derrick, looked dubious as I shoved in the bulb and added water. “What’s that actually supposed to do?” he asked.
“It’s supposed to grow into a fragrant, white daffodil. It’ll be a reminder of Easter and increase our spirituality.”
“Looks more like it’ll be a reminder not to let the dog eat dirt,” he said, as Bud Slug burped up a mound the size of Texas.
A day later, a tender green stalk pushed its way through the soil. Two days later, the stalk grew to six inches. By the end of the week, the plant practically touched the ceiling and Shaquille O’Neal could’ve used it for pole vaulting.
Derrick made me put it in the closet at night, for fear it would come after us.
Finally, it bloomed. Derrick came home from work, took one look and did a double take. “What kind of plant did you say that was?”
I reached over to smell it before answering, and yellow pollen stuck to the end of my nose, making it look like I’d been snorting butter. “It’s a daffodil and it’s supposed to be fragrant.”
“So, is it?”
“No, but it’s supposed to be.”
Derrick shook his head. I was pretty sure it was in amazement and wonder at my gardening expertise.Then he said, “It doesn’t look much like a daffodil. It looks more like something you’d see on Star Trek.”
The thing bloomed for several weeks, growing taller and taller. I only wished I’d taken a picture of it, so I could post it on Associated Content. However, by the time I thought of photos, it had finished blooming.
I wouldn’t say my little horticultural experiment was a failure. After all, I did have a plant that sat on my deck, entwining itself about my roof. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but this year I plan to pick something that will remind me less of Star Trek, and more of Easter.
I wonder how “Death Star Tulips” would look.
(Author’s note: Names have been changed to protect the guilty … namely, Bud Slug and Derrick. For another story that includes Derrick, click here.)