when I watched my neighbor’s!”’ 
It is hard to choose from among the letters. There is the 
professional grower who cannot bring himself to sell them 
such a private delight they are to him; how another simply 
writes ‘“Primroses!” on a post card and they come running 
to carry them off; how a little lady waited until the yellow 
bud had opened into a fragrant fawn bloom to write us of 
must close the file on the east, unfinished, and leave the 
west and south unopened. 
If we have given you pleasure in providing you with 
primroses, you have given us no less in the telling of it 
so that we know, each year when spring whispers its good 
intentions, where footsteps will lead—ours as well as yours 
—to the primroses to see and smell and feel another year’s 
fulfilled promise. 
