What we leave behind

One of the lots in our subdivision hasn't sold. It's overgrown with weeds, vines, and towering bamboo. But every spring, a small row of daffodils pushes up through the ground and thrives with its beautiful yellow flowers on display. (I wish I'd caught it while it was blooming this year, but a rogue freeze came and froze off the blooms.)

But it made me think. I don't know who owned this land before it was developed into the subdivision we live in. I know it was a farm at some point, based on the grapevines and horseshoes we've found on our property. Who left these daffodils behind?

I recently planted some daffodils of my own. I dug the bulbs from my mother's yard and buried them in the red clay of my yard, hoping against hope that they'd survive despite my not-so-green thumb. The heirloom bulbs once grew in my great-aunt Florene's yard. She's been gone almost 20 years and my mom remembered her every year when they bloomed. I was thrilled to see them blooming last week. I will have something else to remember her by every year.

Whoever planted the daffodils in my neighborhood probably never dreamed that there would be all these other families living on the land they farmed. I wonder what their legacy is to the ones who knew them.

In a way, every seed we plant has the potential to be our legacy. Whether it's a physical or spiritual seed, we often leave something behind without realizing that someone else will benefit from it later on. The important thing is making sure that we are planting good seeds.

I think about that with the books I write. I wonder if my kids or their kids will someday pick up a copy of something I wrote and think of it as a thing of wonder or beauty. I hope they will know me better by discerning who I was through the words I wrote. I don't expect to ever be rich or famous as a writer, but I want to leave something meaningful in this world.