I know this is going to sound like the beginning of a bad novel. But it's the truth: It was a long, cold, snowy winter here in Bucks County, PA. And there haven't been many sunny, warm days yet. But at least the daffodils are in bloom. I have a difficult property, two acres of woods, and I get a little obsessive about it...the same way I get obsessive about my books. Each year in the fall, I try to plant at least three hundred more bulbs. And I plant them in out-of-the-way places, so I can see them in bloom from every room in the house in the spring.
This was the batch I planted this past fall, in the middle of an ivy/pachysandra patch that wasn't easy to dig through. I was worried I didn't go deep enough because of all the roots and vines. But they popped up, as usual, without any problems. It's just too bad they won't last more than another week.
I can't help thinking about how these bulbs always remind me of writing and publishing. When you're a writer, you dig through vines and rocks and all kinds of obstacles all the time. I won't even get into the rejection all writers deal with. But, sooner or later, if you keep digging, it's always worth the effort!!