The daffodils are finally blooming. Spring is near.

I have been stalking them for the last few days, waiting patiently for the first of these frilly little flowers to turn their faces toward the sun. That’s my cue to participate in my annual tradition to pick the first few blooms of the season.

Like my dad and my grandfather before him, I look forward to gathering up a few to bring inside.

Honestly, I’m not a huge fan of bringing flowers in from the yard because it almost seems like torture to rip them from their natural surroundings and force them to live in my stuffy house. While flowers brighten my surroundings I just wonder how they feel about it.

I sometimes wonder if this is how my grandma felt or if she just liked to see her flowers outside. Either way, she was never thrilled when my grandpa picked her flowers. It was a true joy for him though and he looked forward to it.

When I was small, he would enlist my help because he knew she wouldn’t complain if it was me committing the offense. I was a really cute accomplice and it’s hard to be mad at a little girl with her hair in pigtails when she presents you with a fistful of flowers.

My dad loves to pick flowers to bring inside to my mother and she enjoys it too. From the first daffodil blooms of spring until the last roses of summer, he makes sure she always has a vase full of flowers.

Scout also enjoys daffodils in the house. Unfortunately, daffodils are poisonous to cats, dogs and horses and I didn’t realize this until he put his rabid determination to work in trying to get to them last night. There literally is nowhere safe or out of his reach inside this house except behind a closed door. I’m already regretting having them.

While it’s a nuisance, it is kind of sweet the way he enjoys fresh flowers as much as the rest of the family!

It’s true what they say. Happiness is in the small things.