We’re enduring a change-or-die economy. It’s not easy for anyone, but it’s especially painful for a festival built on tradition.

In its 77th year, The Daffodil Festival – like nonprofits, like businesses, like laid-off workers – has seen its income shrink to the vanishing point.

Those disappearing donations make good sense in this bad time.

When legacy businesses are going bankrupt, when the parade’s home city of Puyallup entertained a tent city proposal for its homeless residents, when food bank use is soaring, how do you justify spending major money to keep a parade alive?

You don’t.

Festival organizers get that.

That’s why they’re re-evaluating everything they do, and re-inventing the place they hold in the community.

The old money isn’t there. They have to change, or the Daffodil Festival dies.

Robyn DeLorm, who manages the festival’s fundraising and public relations, is tackling both tasks with the idea that, if everyone can play, the festival has a chance.

She’s starting by finding ways to do more with less.

Joining a festival insurance pool could save $4,000 to $6,000 a year. Renting a suite at the Puyallup-Sumner Chamber of Commerce could cut rent from $1,450 down to $500 a month.

Sure, she’ll continue to go after extra zeros on checks. But she won’t bet the festival on them.

Instead, she’s bringing a refreshing populist sense to the game.

Ironically, one of the festival’s enduring strengths has a tinge of liability clinging to it.

The Daffodilians, those always-mature people in yellow jackets, are the volunteer engine that drives the floats and the princesses’ appearances and every detail that goes right. Just a few years ago, only couples of a certain standing were invited to join those ranks.

The invitation is more inclusive now. Singles can join, especially those eager to work.

“We’re a fun, loose group,” DeLorm said. “We do it because we are passionate about the royalty and how they grow as leaders.”

Now, she said, she’s getting that word out, hoping to refresh that volunteer base.

Then there’s the notion of princesses.

Who wouldn’t like to be a dancing, singing princess waving to fans in the crowd?

But how, precisely, does such a girl in a tiara, long white gloves and a confectionary-yellow gown fit into reality?

“We have to realize the public isn’t into the pageant any more,” said DeLorm, who was a princess in the 1980s.

The real story, she said, is how today’s princesses and queen develop leadership skills during their year of royalty.

“These young women are the cream of the crop,” she said. “We let them blossom.”

The festival, she admits, has not told the whole story about what princesses become once they pack up the tiara. She already is changing that, telling the stories of judges, educators and community leaders who once rode a float through four cities in one day.

The float is a necessary luxury, but the trips it takes all year are under consideration. Last year, it travelled because sponsors paid its way to more distant parades. That will likely be the case again this year.

But DeLorm is considering other ways to pay for the float.

How about a tour of all the floats the night before the parade, with a small admission fee?

How about letting people buy a daff and stick it in the float themselves?

How about enlisting merchants to offer dollar daffodil stickers at the checkout, and display the populist sponsorships in their window?

How about two princess teas where, for $20, little girls can wear their floofy dresses, find a tiara and an autograph book at their place, and mingle with Daffodil royalty – a la Disneyland?

How about Daffodil Day at an April Tacoma Rainiers game? Baseball, a hot dog, a soda and, of course, princesses.

One of the festival’s enduring charms has been its homemade quality.

This year that quality won’t be merely appealing. It will be crucial. And we can all be a part of it.

Kathleen Merryman: 253-597-8677

kathleen.merryman@thenewstribune.com