From the Editor's Desk

By Sharon Ward
Director of Communications
  

What a busy little bunch we are.  The amount of energy and output from Canadian Progress Clubs is staggering.  What are those boys in Moncton sprinkling on their Wheaties, anyway?

I don’t know about you, but after reading this issue of The Progression, I’m ready for a vacation!  Ah, but we all know the antidote, eh?  The results.  That’s what keeps the fires burning.

Club member Judy Lavers sent along a little inspirational story which I want to share with everyone in Progress.

Several times my daughter had called to say, “Mother, you must come see the daffodils before they are over.”

I wanted to go, but it was a two hour drive to her house.  “I will come next Tuesday,” I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third call.

Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy.  Still, I had promised, and so I drove there.  When I finally walked into Carolyn’s house and hugged and greeted my grandchildren, I said, “Forget the daffodils, Carolyn!  The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these children that I want to see badly enough to drive another inch!”

My daughter smiled and said, “We drive in this all the time, Mother.”

“Well, you won’t get me back on the road until it clears, and then I’m heading for home!” I assured her.

“I was hoping you’d take me over to the garage to pick up my car.”

“How far will we have to drive?”

“Just a few blocks,” Carolyn said.  “I’ll drive. I’m used to this.” 

fter several minutes, I had to ask, “Where are we going?  This isn’t the way to the garage!”

“We’re going to my garage by way of the daffodils.”

“Carolyn,” I said sternly, “Please turn around.”

“It’s all right, Mother, I promise.  You will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience.”

After about twenty minutes, we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a small church with a hand lettered sign that read, “Daffodil Garden.”  We got out of the car and I followed Carolyn down the path.  Then, we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped.

Before me lay the most glorious sight.  It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes.  The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns—great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow.  Each different-colored variety was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue.  There were five acres of flowers.

“But who has done this?” I asked.

“It’s just one woman,” Carolyn answered.  “She lives on the property.  That’s her home.”  Carolyn pointed to a well kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory.  We walked up to the house.

On the patio, we saw a poster. “Answers to the Questions I Know You are asking” was the headline.

The first answer was a simple one. “50,000 bulbs,” it read.

The second answer was, “One at a time, by one woman.  Two hands, two feet, and very little brain.”

The third answer was, “Began in 1958.”

There it was, The Daffodil Principle.

For me, that moment was a life-changing experience.  I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than forty years before, had begun—one bulb at a time—to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountaintop.  Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after year, had changed the world.  She had created something of indescribable magnificence, beauty, and inspiration.  The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration.

When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things.  We can change the world.