Hiding Hens

     Yesterday our hens were hiding in the daisies, perhaps under the illusion that “Daisies won’t tell.”  If so, however, they are confusing the flower-type daisies with girls by the name of Daisy.  As I recently learned, that familiar expression (which I never did understand) comes from the chorus of a 1908 song:  “Always take a girl named Daisy, ’cause Daisies won’t tell…”
    There is a lot of lore that goes with daisies.  It is thought that the name comes from the corruption of “day’s eye” because the whole flower head opens in the morning and closes at night.  Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1340-1400) called it “eye of the day.”  In French, the flower is called the “marguerite” and so our English version of the girl’s name Margaret can be said to mean Daisy.
     We speak of being “as fresh as a daisy” and use the idiom “pushing up daisies” to mean dead and buried.  And who doesn’t remember chanting “he (or she) loves me, he loves me not” while picking one petal off a daisy for each phrase?  Presumably, whatever is said for the last petal represents the true feelings of the object of one’s affections.  I remember saying it many times with no particular boy in mind, happy to know someone did indeed love me or, conversely, relieved to know that there wasn’t any certain boy out there who spurned my non-existent affections.
     No matter what the daisies might represent to people or hens, I find that they make a cheerful addition to the garden and  long-lasting bouquets for the house.  I’m so glad we have lots of them – plenty to cut and plenty left to perk up the flower beds and provide places for the silly hens to hide.