The Daffodil Relocation Project was founded nine years ago
with several shovels and buckets in the back of my old green Ford Ranger. The Englishman and I would follow the roads
less traveled, sometimes bringing along a passenger or a dog for the ride. We have seen peacocks and Shetland ponies and
abandoned railroad tracks and houses filled with history and ghosts. We have discovered old cemeteries and
reverently traced the worn names fading from the headstones. We halted the truck at a deep puddle of water
and watched butterflies play in the sunshine, wings dipping and sending rings
of water to the edges. We rescued
flowers from deep ditches that kept the roads from eroding and filled the bed
of the truck with daffodils, irises and lily of the valley. We snacked on food that we had brought for
our adventure: Girl Scout Cookies,
chips, apples, granola bars and bottles of water. And as the sun began to lower in the sky, we
headed toward paved roads with yellow painted lines down the center which welcomed
our reentry to civilization once more. Our
work was far from over and when we reached home, the remainder of the weekend
was spent finding new homes within our garden for each bulb. 
February had returned once more, and as I glanced out the window of my house, I saw the delicate yellow petals stretching gently toward the sunshine. I saw the tiny white flower bells dangling from lush green fronds ringing the cherry trees and the distinct leaves of the irises peeking out from the mulch. Yes, it was February and I felt my wanderlust return and I longed for another beautiful day of relocating daffodils.
