During March, Mom and I went out to a place in the foothills a few hours away called Daffodil Hill. They are a family that owns some land that started planting thousands of daffodils throughout their farm. They don’t charge you anything for parking or any entrance fees, but run strictly on donations.
We’ve been many times, but each time we bask in the loveliness anew. This time was especially poignant since it was the first time back without taking Grandma. The last time we had been there, we brought her along and even took some photos together. Little did I know that this would be one of the last few times she would be able to an outing like that. Since her passing last year, I often think of her and remember the good times we had at Daffodil Hill and other places.
Mom and I had such a good time, and she is great about pointing out and naming the different varieties of daffodils. There wasn’t a single kind there that she couldn’t recognize and name! Sometimes I really wish I had her green thumb. I guess I’ll just have to content myself with taking pictures of them instead.