When you stop to think about it, much of the pleasure of gardening is in the anticipation. An acorn is sown in the hope that it will germinate, and one day grow into a mighty oak. A rose is pruned bare and naked in winter, in the knowledge that it will burst into fragrant bloom come spring. An apple tree is planted with the taste of freshly picked fruit already swimming on the tongue. Gardening is about the journey, as much as it is about the destination.
Consider the daffodil. You’d search long and hard to find something more anticipatory, and wondrous, than a daffodil bulb. The nondescript little package of energy and DNA you can hold in the palm of your hand is like a time bomb with an internal clock ready to explode into growth as soon as climate and chronology are in sync. By around late winter, just when you’re ready for some cheery colour, up comes a trumpet of gold announcing the imminent arrival of spring. What a sight! It never ceases to amaze me that something so jaunty can come from what is essentially a glorified onion.
Shakespeare was a fan. So was Wordsworth. Remember the poem I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud, from your high school English days, and the closing couplet “and then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils.” Those with Welsh heritage will be interested to know that the daffodil is the national flower of Wales, and that it’s customary to wear a daffodil flower or a leek on the lapel for Saint David’s Day (March 1st). I reckon wearing one of each flower on either lapel would be a real treat.
Daffs are much loved plants because of their beauty, but for gardeners, their ease of cultivation is much admired. Provide them with half decent conditions, and most will prove a piece of cake to grow. The key issue is well drained soil. Because the bulbs are dormant over summer, and that’s the time when we get most of our rain, drainage is important lest the bulb rots during a wet week. A good tactic is to grow the bulbs as drifts under deciduous trees, which will sop up most of the summer moisture, while allowing light to the daffs in winter. If yours is a sticky soil, try growing in raised beds or pots.
The other important thing to remember is to leave the foliage to die back naturally. Don’t cut it off when it looks tatty. You might tidy the plant up, but you’ll also rob the bulb of the photosynthetic energy it needs to do its thing next year. Brown daffodil foliage means recharging bulbs. If you’re a neat freak, I’ll leave it up to you to figure out a cluey way to hide the dying foliage amongst other plants.
There are literally hundreds of cultivars available. Perhaps the most famous is ‘King Alfred’ a large, trumpet variety that dates back to the 1890’s. Upon release the bulb was offered for the princely sum of six pound and six shillings, the equivalent of a labourer’s wages for more than six weeks. It is a beautiful plant, ideal for naturalising. Another big daff that has great appeal is ‘Saint Patrick’s Day’ which flowers in a delicious shade of lemon yellow.
Of the smaller cultivars, ‘Téte a Téte’ is regarded as the standard by which others are judged. It’s a lovely little plant perfect for growing in a pot, and is very free flowering, producing up to three stems per plant, each crowned with three individual flowers. I also like ‘Jetfire’, which is a bit bolder than the others thanks to its reflexed petals and long orange trumpet. Or for something a bit different, try the hoop petticoat daffodil, Narcissus bulbocodium. A native to southern France, Spain and Portugal, it does well in Australian conditions and if happy, will gradually expand to form drifts of golden petticoat-like funnels.
I like to bend some rules, so last April I happily planted some daffodils smack bang in the middle of our vegie patch. Visitors were sceptical, but on a cold, clear day in late August, when much of the garden was leafless and the lawn still tawny from frost, I wandered into the vegie garden to be surprised by a drift of golden yellow daffs flowering cheerily amongst the cabbages and broccoli. It was such a happy scene that I’ve left them in the ground to do the same thing this winter. I’ll do likewise the winter after that, and for many winters to come. Daffs flowering in the vegie patch is a sight to soften the hardest of hearts.
First published in the Toowoomba Chronicle Saturday 21st March 2009
