More than four years ago, Craig introduced me to a small patch of wilderness
that decades before had been planted with narcissus and daffodils.
I wrote about it then, and last week we finally made another trek out
to check on the current state of this secret garden. 

Don’t hate me for my discretion

First of all, I’m not going to tell you where this “garden” is located. Here’s why: in recent years, Craig and I have been appalled at the way that special places have been overrun and ruined after being extolled in social media. Someone mentions a spot they love and doubtless shares a selfie, and before you know it dozens — if not hundreds — of other people feel compelled to do the same. It’s not just that some are careless of the fragility of the natural environment but that visitors in such numbers cannot avoid doing damage.

While I don’t expect many people to read this post, you never know how word might get out. So I apologize, but the location of this particular spot will remain secret. Perhaps one day you’ll happen upon it by chance.

Along the trail

What I can tell you, however, is how this secret garden came to be. One day some thirty years ago, Craig’s friend Ellen, a trail runner and avid gardener, found herself out in the woods with a handful of flower bulbs in her sweatshirt pocket. A clearing by a vernal pool was her usual turnaround spot, and on impulse she decided to plant the bulbs in the soft earth near the water. That was the beginning.

The bulbs turned out to be narcissus, which are deer-resistant, a lucky choice for this wooded spot, and they settled in well. Over the next few years, Ellen established more clusters of narcissus and daffodils along the path and around the pond — and Craig helped her do it. In the decades since, the plants have flourished and spread, so that each year in early February clumps of pale flowers may still be spotted on the fringes of what remains of the original trail.

This little trail is now largely overgrown: storms and time have felled aging trees, and you have to push your way through the bushes that obscure what was once a clear path. (Happily, this year we were prepared for the ubiquitous poison oak and dressed appropriately.) If you look carefully, though, you can spot green blades and bright blooms poking up here and there through the tangle of bushes and fallen branches.

Around the pool

At the end of the trail, you come upon the pool — at least, you do at this time of year. (Vernal pools come and go with the seasonal rains.) Here the terrain opens up, and for a few short weeks clumps of bright yellow daffodils and white or pale-gold narcissus brighten the landscape, even on grey, cloudy days like the one on which we visited. Where nothing else is yet in flower, these blooms are the first signs of approaching spring.

• A secret garden
• Undaunted by wind and rain
• Flower power!