Thinking Out LoudFor a few glorious hours, I was beside myself with joy. I was with a dear friend, and we were celebrating her birthday at one of the most enchanting places I’ve ever been: a FLOWER farm.
Our tickets bought us entry and a pitcher we could fill with flowers of our choice. We were able to walk through and admire bed after bed of dazzling colour and variety, to freely touch and freely smell—and take our favourites home.
The setting was dreamy, the peaceful atmosphere a balm. If a person needed respite from the worries of this world—a taste of heaven, a reason to believe there is a God—I might prescribe a visit to this place.
The tickets were worth every cent—especially when I thought about how much labour must have gone into planting and tending to so many plants, day after day, season after season, all while battling a steady stream of pests and disease, all while vulnerable to unpredictable seasons, and extreme weather.
I’ve since learned that the owner of the farm has horticulture and fine art degrees, and breeds her own dahlias, naming each cultivar after an artist. Apparently you don’t know what the offspring will look like until the first one opens up, so it’s ‘like Christmas morning’ when it does.
When I returned home, I spread flowers through the house. I proceeded to further multiply my joy by giving individual ‘artworks’ to numerous friends.
I once thought flowers an impractical and fleeting gift; now I struggle to think of a better one. Their temporary nature reminds us life is short. But before they die, even once they start to fade, they attract our gaze. They demand our attention and, when we give it, they remind us life is beautiful—miraculous.
This Thinking Out Loud was first published on Facebook.