The Daisies and Me

The enchantment tucked in every nook at the farm, eventually found its way to me. In early summer, just beyond the apple orchards, steadfast daisies conquered the fields. Then and now, if you listen closely, you can hear the hint of a childlike chorus singing the praises of simply being alive. Proud, hopeful and unwavering, they nod in approval at my decision to refrain from plucking too many of them from their essential revelry.

At a young age, I realized that picking them was a bit selfish; therefore, I limited myself to perhaps two daisy chains a season.

One sunny afternoon I tried to place a chain on an endearing cow, my grandfather quickly protested; the cows would only eat them. His infinite wisdom triumphed.

The selection process should not be taken lightly. In fact, please don’t pick any flowers without integrity of purpose. Maintaining balance is vital. A group of daisies plucked from one general area will result in a hole in the face of beauty. Adhere to these simple rules when harvesting daisies and enduring magic will prevail.

1). Always have a pure heart and good intentions.

2). Always give thanks to the daisy before plucking.

3). Never pluck two daisies side by side.

4). Never take the last daisy, even if it means improvising, such as making an anklet.

5). Pick near the root to have plenty of stalk to work with.

6). Always leave the roots in the earth to insure rebirth.

7). Always give thanks to Our Mother after.

Daisies are clearly the flower of choice, but pansies, buttercups and poppies work well too. Actually, most single-headed flowers can be used; the additional blends of colors are likely to result in a masterpiece. In a pinch, wild clovers will do, but I advise against using dandelions or any other milky-stalked weed. All endangered wildflowers are out of the question.

I usually fashioned my daisy chain into a faerie crown. Twirling and dancing around my heaven – the edge of a woody mountainside farm overlooking a dreaming lake – wearing a crown, was a natural rite of passage. The power of the crown lived long after wilting, sustaining and transforming, until the thin, supple stalks became too brittle, and then I crumpled the cherished remains into little balls and tossed them into the air. Oh how happy are we.

Fresh ~ innocent ~ young: wilted ~ wise ~ elder.