Who dreams of daffodils in June? Passionate gardeners, among whom I include myself do. Soon after rose season begins, I go to the revelry inducing White Flower Farm and John Scheepers catalogues to look at Grant Mitsch creations and the new offerings of the season. Mitsch daffodils have been a weakness of mine since my days as a novice gardener. At the time, I belonged to a garden club of the sort where women painstakingly arranged flowers whose stems they measured as if the fate of the world depended on it.
My only arrangement, appropriately named Beirut and looking as if it had been designed by Hezbollah, did not meet with much enthusiasm. I did not last looking as a club member, but among the things I learnt from the garden club ladies was that there was such a thing as daffodils worthy of poems by Woodsworth. They were grown in Oregon, by American hybridiser Grant Mitsch. That was some thirty years ago and I continue to long for drifts of Seafoam, so delicately luminous it seems to have been carved out of the finest white jade.
Alas, my lust for narcissi goes beyond Rapture, Quail, Petrel, Pacific Rim and all the outstanding Mitsch creations. This fall, G'd willing and the creek don't rise, I hope to get a few more pure white, green eyed Misty Glenn, the minimum order of the shaggy headed Rip van Winkle, bicoloured Avalon, pink Apricot Whirl, double Flyer and Art Nouveau.
Note: Daffodil photos by White Flower Farm.


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