When Dave and I moved to our house 30 years ago, the daffodils were already here at the end of the driveway. And they're still right there. They've been mowed down and run over many, many times.
A memorable one was when my mom got her car hung up on the giant rock we had next to the daffodils to keep the garbage truck out of the yard. My guys had to lift her car up and off the rock. I have no idea how she managed that, but we had to wait for spring to see the daffodils again. They didn't survive the melee. And in the spring, there they were— for more punishment. Year after year.
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