It’s giving “hello from the other siiiiiide”.

Ever look — and I mean really look — at a daffodil from behind? Yea, me neither. Until, one day I did. And it changed everything for me. I’m not kidding.

Last spring — a year ago this very week actually — I found myself staring down a field of daffodils … as one does come springtime in the Pacific Northwest.

(I mean it is fitting given that I live in Puyallup, a town whose brand is literally build upon daffodils. Well that and rhubarb. Oh, and THE Fair of course. Yes, Washington State Fair owns thefair.com which is such a flex, isn’t it?)

I’d set out on a little photo adventure as prescribed by my therapist. I’d been holed up in a cave of depression, literal darkness (because hello winter in the PNW), in a bit of a creative drought, and in need of SOMETHING to shake me awake and help me out of my funk.

I’d tried lots of things previously and nothing was quite working. I’d gotten back to the basics. You know, drinking lots of water, making sure I was eating (which is a whole thing for me when I’m down bad), trying to establish a routine and “normal” sleep schedule. I tried adjusting my meds. I worked on reaching out to friends and family for support and getting out there more and socializing — things like talking to other humans out in the wild instead of just to my dogs at home. Shocking I know.

I think all of those things made an impact and I (and lots of like scientific evidence) attest that those efforts are helpful and effective in treating depression. But nothing quite got me unstuck in a meaningful way.

So, there I was on a gray Seattle day, wandering through Volunteer Park, just me and my camera, bent over (ha!) looking very closely at all manner of daffodils. Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head. Some were alone. Some were among hundreds of others. Some were white (my fave of course because you know me and color) and some were bright yellow with orange cups and some were yellow on yellow.

But all, and I do mean all, were all facing the sun.

(Which, unironically, was also the name of the 6-week online course I'd just enrolled in, taught by an old college friend. Oh hi, Julie. Ya’ll must take her course Facing the Sun. Trust and believe!)

It’s what daffodils do. It’s like their whole gig. This is what google says “Daffodils are strongly phototropic, meaning they move their blooms to face the sun, specifically towards the brightest light source (often to the south or east). They require full sun to partial shade—at least 6-8 hours of direct sun daily—to thrive and produce strong blooms, often turning away from houses towards the light.”

For some reason I decided to start my wanderings through the park to the right and loop my way around. Probably so I didn’t have to walk up hill at the end. What can I say? I’m a planner and very efficient. My first daff (!) encounter was immediate and significant because there were just too little buddies hanging out under a giant maple tree surrounded by dead, rotting leaves doing their mulching thing. Two friends, emerging from their long winter’s nap to chase the sun. They were precious. So I took their portrait and then carried on.

I proceeded upward toward a cherry tree in full bloom, hung out under its delicate canopy of white for a bit, and thought to myself “cute, but, like, gimme more daffs!”

I carried on, knowing there HAD to be some more in front of the conservatory. And sure enough, there were two giant beds of them on either side of the entrance. I looked. I lingered. I peeked through the foggy windows of the greenhouses. And of course, I took a series of photos of my new friends. I was living.

Ok, so next I made the decent down the back side of the loop. Saw another cool tree in bloom and lingered there for a bit. Saw a bed of smaller, white with yellow cup daffodils to my left and was mesmerized by how many there were.

I kept walking down the wet pavement path. And then I stopped.

I saw something I’ve never seen before. Daffodils from behind, and baby, they got back.

The perceptive struck me. I felt like I was one of them, I was among the many. And there we stood … with our faces pointed to the sun. I thought “wait, all a daff sees about other daffs is their backsides. And they got alllll that ass. I mean sure, it’s not the PRETTIEST side of the flower, and it’s very much not the point of a daffodil as far as we’re told … everything we’ve been taught to believe — stay with me here — about a daffodil is that it’s cute and bright and happy and friendly FROM THE FRONT. That’s the point, look there and there only.

But what if we looked from the other side? What would we discover? Ohh look, there’s a shriveled sheath (yes, I know, eww) of sorts left over … evidence of growth, of change, of emergence. There are layers and textures and delicate folds on the petals. They cute from back here. I like being among them.

So basically here’s your invitation to look at more ass. 🍑 Can I get an amen?

And to look at something from a different perspective, and see what strikes you. (When you do and when you noticed something new, tell me about it. Mmkay?)

While it may be a bold claim, I do think this photo walk and some time with my beloved daffs healed me. Returning to my first love as an artist — photography, and more specifically, nature photography — got me unstuck. I was able to connect to a very deep and very neglected innate desire to create and was reminded of the power in turning to art to feel alive again. Something shifted after that day in the park and I started to slowly emerge from my cave bit by bit.

But here’s the cruel dark twist: I’ve tragically been caught in the muck and mire of depression again this winter. I’m beginning to think that maybe SAD does effect me after all, but also things have been really, really difficult for various reasons lately. So who even knows. I’ll write more about that later, but in the meanwhile, I’m thinking that maybe I need a daff date on the double. Let’s see if my theory stands. I’ll report back.

Until next time, friends …

Toodles,

-j.