When I was a little girl my maternal grandparents’ farm was a wildflower wonderland in the Spring. I loved our trips there during that time of the year because I could break out through the back gate and find myself in an enormous field, full of greens and blues and reds and whites and yellows. It was nothing short of breathtaking for this once-upon-a-time little girl.
I would bring my bouquet back to the house and an old glass would become a proxy for a vase, as I created a centerpiece for our supper.
Today, as I snapped pictures of my kids collecting flowers, right here, right now, in the front yard, I couldn’t help but cultivate those memories. I closed my eyes and easily went there, wishing I could transport us all to that same spot, just for a bit. Oh how I would love to share that place with my own children…
But I haven’t visited that farm in years and it is now owned by someone else, outside of my mother’s family. Someday soon I will tell them all about it though. And I can only hope they have some of the same feelings I had in my zen-like field of flowers, at least a few times in their precious lives.