Now, March in New Hampshire is very much still in the grip of winter. I left snow and ice, encountered rain in New York (where we were held over for one night due to strikes in Europe, put up in the Hotel Essex where I slept off the flu I had suddenly contracted), witnessed horizontal snowy blasts for the brief glance out the door in Reykjavik, but when we landed in Luxembourg, it was springtime. We landed in early morning, and I was to take a train to Bordeaux, France, late that afternoon, so I spent the day wandering through the parks of this lovely city, admiring the green grass, budding trees, and the barely budding daffodils.
I stayed in Bordeaux for a week with a penpal and her delightful family. Papa and Maman both worked, and Isabel and Philippe were in school, so I spent my days wandering their small village and catching up on jet lag. The daffodils were in bloom. On the weekend they took me to the Dune du Pyla, further south, and to their summer cottage in Arcachon, where the daffodils were in riotous profusion!
I started a daffodil search across Europe- they were blooming in Paris, where I spent a lonely week in a Quartier Latin hotel, in Brussels, where I visited another pen pal, and as I arrived in Canterbury, England, for Holy Week and Easter, there they were, just starting to bloom. For the next 6 weeks or so I made my way around Great Britain, to London, Salisbury Plain, Wales, the Lake District, and Scotland. I started searching for what was becoming my favorite flower. The weather held up amazingly well, and I met folks at youth hostels and inns, saw things I had only imagined, and grew in independence and spirit. wo
A big highlight was Wordsworth's house in Grasmere in the Lake District. I had met up with a lovely South African woman (Ailsa Dewar, where are you now?) and we hired a local man to take us on a long trek across the region, stopping at Dove Cottage where, indeed, we found a host of golden daffodils.
One problem with the whole adventure- I was terribly lonely and homesick. I was only 18, missed my mom, my friends, and learned how important it is for me to have friends and community. I could have afforded to stay for several weeks more, but in mid-May I arranged for a flight home (remember when we could have open-ended return tickets? I didn't even fly home on the same airline!). I decided to surprise my mother, so when I landed in Boston, I hopped on the Concord Trailways bus, and once in Concord, I took a taxi home. There was my mother, working in the garden, on a sunny May afternoon- and the daffodils were in bloom.
There is a lovely song by Sydney Carter, called Julian of Norwich. In it are the following lines:
Love, like the yellow daffodil, the flower in the snow
Love, like the yellow daffodil is Lord of all I know
Ring out, bells of Norwich and let the winter come and go
All shall be well again, I know
The daffodils are just now blooming at Tam Lin. They remind my of my big late-teen adventure. And they remind me that despite the hardship of a New Hampshire winter, despite all the violence, anger, fear, oppression, injustice and cruelty in the world, that somehow all shall indeed be well again, in some way we can't really fathom. All shall be well again, I know.
