Each March, tiny white daffodils break through a mass of brambles at the back of our property. Every year, I plan to free them, so they can emerge without struggle the next spring. But because they are out of sight, I forget, they fade, and I cannot recall their exact location until they peep through again the next spring.
We think that someone must have had a home on that spot long ago. Occasionally, we’ll find part of an old fence post, or non-native bushes scattered among the trees. My mind wanders to possibilities—who lived here? What happened to their home? It’s as if I’ve stepped back in time, standing where another mother stood while a delighted child pointed to the flowers.
“Look, Mama! Spring!”
That child may be a grandmother now.
Freeing the daffodils from the brambles is like freeing the memories from the erosion of time. Whoever lived here enjoyed the blooms each spring, welcoming the change in season. Now we do the same, sharing the same delight in creation and rebirth across decades—maybe a century.
At the Booth family land, a mass of sunny daffodils graces the front of a white-paneled home that has seen two centuries turn over. While the structure is now beyond use, the flowers still thrive. Family members say they are the offspring of the original bulbs planted when the house was built.
And here, stories abound. Cousins pushed each other on a tire swing too hard, but no one wanted to stop. A pine tree towered above the rest of the woods, and brave boys climbed to the top to view the world. Women took their laundry to the creek to wash. Men went to war. There were fireworks at Christmas, picnics under hundred-year-old oaks, Nanny’s cooking…
Generation after generation was bound to that land with love, sensing something of the sacred in a place filled with stories of those who came before. And every spring, the daffodils remind us that though the seasons pass quickly, and our lives are but a breath, there is always rebirth—rebirth for the land, rebirth for us.
This life may fade before we know it. But the end of our time here is not the end of our time. There is glorious rebirth for those who know the Lord. Life with him is an eternal spring, where creation will not wither and fade, and we will no longer endure the effects of passing years.
My father-in-law knows that feeling. Released from a weakening body, he now has a taste of forever spring. As do my parents. One generation passes to the next, sometimes too early, sometimes tragically, but always into something more.
Winter passes into spring.
Where are you most aware of the miracle of rebirth, both of springtime and of your life?
Publishing Updates
March roared in like a lion, but in the best possible way. My first published Flash Fiction story, “Amethyst Isles,” came out with Havok Publishing on March 1st. My next story with Havok, “The Rejected,” will be out Friday, March 15th. It will be free for the public that day only. You can read it at https://gohavok.com/.
Working with Havok Publishing has been an incredible experience, and I plan to submit more stories to them.
On the 20th, my micro-fiction story, “Dragon Harvest,” will come out in Clean Fiction Magazine’s spring edition. This was a fun, quirky story, and I can’t wait to share to share it with y’all. The magazine is available on Amazon, or you can check it out here: https://www.sunsetvalleycreations.com/cleanfictionmagazine
Middle Earth Feast
Thank you so much for subscribing! I am thrilled to be able to connect with you. I’ve attached a file for the Middle Earth Feast I promised—a collection of recipes inspired by The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit. Our family enjoys the “hobbit food”, and I hope you will, too!
Feel free to reach out! I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me at connect@jenboothauthor.com.