Every year I notice more that I hadn't seen before. Wildflowers, like the multi-bloomed spheres of pink up there. Where were they last year? And the year before? I've no idea. But hooray for this year, and hooray that they were blooming on this side of the fence, right where I consider them fair game. I've no clue of their name, but their leaves are velvety soft, and when you pick them, they drip a sticky, milky-white liquid from their stems, which is no bother at all because the fragrance coming from those pompom heads is to die for.
This is the wildflower market on an early Sunday summer morning.
I drove with Nellie up that rough gravel road, intending to be gone for just a few minutes. Go ahead and smile about that one. The search for treasure hooked me through and through (not hard to do), pulled me in, and lead us on, over hills, down gulleys, and across three creek crossings. There was always another bend to look around, always another flower we might see (or cowboy, or hawk, or sweet pair of fawns!).
Finally, we had to get the upper hand, turn the wheels around, and head for home. A galvanized bucket held our haul until evening, when I stood with late-day sun slanting around me as I worked this heap of beauty together in a clear crystal vase.
Now, when you walk into the little house, BOOM wildflowers (yes, this one's huge).
Love that.
Edited: Unlike me, always know what you are picking before you pick! Some wildflowers are very poisonous.
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