A couple of days ago we had our first touch of spring. The sun came out to make it warm enough to leave the heavy coats behind, and the gentle breezes just smelled so good. We decided to drop everything and spend a short bit of time walking around our favorite botanical gardens to greet the new season, or at least chase it a bit.
The kids had a great time getting out in the air after being cooped so long. Just a few short weeks ago, we were experiencing heavy storms with record snow accumulation, one after the other. Being able to cavort without being dressed as giant marshmallows was probably enough to put everyone in a good mood. Despite this and fun climbing around the giant wood tree houses, the kids wondered where all of the flowers.
Off to the flower walk we went, but unfortunately all that was in evidence were little shoots just emerging from the dirt. No flowers to be see anywhere.
We started heading back out toward the entrance. Along the way we actually did spot some flowers, little crocus that were being allowed to grow wild along the side of the path. My three-year-old reached down to touch, and my husband gave a stern warning that he not pick the flower. “Other people would like to enjoy it, too.” Our child obeyed.
Next in the parking lot, we saw more crocus, and there was another warning. This time, the flower seemed to fall off into our son’s hand, and a panicked look to dad said it all.
Today, we had another nice day, and let the kids play out in the wooded backyard. There near a rock wall, they spotted some snow drops, small white flowers that droop their heads. The kids ran up to them. My youngest turned back to me, then to the flowers and then back to me. “Go ahead and pick them,” I said. Confusion was all over his face. “Please pick the flowers!”
The smile I got back will be hard to forget. Wild flowers will always be welcome here.
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