When I lived in England, I never once planted daffodils. I didn't need to. They were everywhere. Every village had them on the village green. Every town had them along the roadside and on the roundabouts. Every neighbouring garden had them in profusion and when I moved to Cornwall, in the far south west of England, they even grew wild along the lanes. I grew plenty of different narcissus, but never daffodils. So, when I moved to Crete, I duly planted lots of different narcissus, that are suitable for my Mediterranean climate. They are all lovely and I enjoy them greatly.

So why did I start hankering for daffodils? Why did I develop this yen for them? I had never bothered with them before, so why now, did I miss them so much?

I don't know why, but I started searching to see if any daffodils would be happy in Crete.

A noted bulb expert, Oron Peri from Israel suggested that I try an old fashioned daffodil variety, named King Alfred. I managed to find some and ordered just a few, in case they would be a one year wonder.

Here they are in 2012, their first year underneath the loquat tree.

and here are some I picked to-day.

I always took daffodils for granted in England, so why now do I keep going up to the loquat tree to see how they are doing. When they are in full flower, why do I go and gloat over my tiny, two patches of daffodils four or five times a day?

I don't know.

I suppose it is the same as wanting a rose that grows outside one's zone. One tries and tries perhaps a number of times, to realise the dream and to assuage that need.

Daisy