‘Daydream’ opens in a single bright color, and matures into a softer, deeper pallette – just the way I would like to do.
The original color is described by Brent and Becky’s as “sunny yellow”. To me, it has a little bit of the taxicab or crayon (if you look closely, you can see flecks of color, hints of what’s to come):
Within a day, the hints of color turn into downright statements. A faint red picotee edge appears on the edge of the petals, and a flush of apricot orange starts to suffuse the flower.
The older blooms become even deeper and more thoroughly orange, although there’s still something of a blush sensation when you look to the heart of the petals.
In a few days, there’s a distinct contrast between the newly-opened blooms, and the ones that have been around for awhile.
Besides the color show, Daydream gives us scent: I detect a faint, light sweetness from this tulip, especially the ones which have just opened. (Scent is part of the strategy for attracting pollination, so it often dissipates or changes its nature after pollination occurs.)
I thought all this mutation was a modern invention, but Daydream actually qualifies as an heirloom tulip; it was first grown by van Tubergen in 1952.
While the final stage of Daydream is said to be pale apricot, it’s really more of a fading sunset, which gets more translucent as it ages, going back to just about the shade it was when it first colored up.
I’ve enjoyed the show, but to be honest, Daydream, as a friend of mine said recently, is a little too primary-color for me (although that’s not quite right, since orange is a secondary color. I guess I just mean the colors feel too straight-ahead to me). But I’m glad I satisfied my curiosity and grew Daydream. It’s an intriguing flower-invention, and shows one of the main tulip characteristics: a willingness to mutate, and turn into something else.