As I grow older, I cling ever closer to memories of summers long gone, clear blue skies the color of a robin’s egg, and more shades of green than a young child could keep up with. Flowers of every shape and variety speckled the countryside like nature’s confetti, awaiting my young hands to be picked for a bouquet. That same bouquet would find its way onto my mother’s dinner table as a centerpiece. She was always so proud of every flower and leaf I ever gave her, and I still have many that she saved pressed between the pages of big books.
Among my favorite wildflower was what we called wild sweet Williams. Those beautiful purple flowers you see along roadsides blooming prolifically every spring. Sometimes there will even be white and darker purple ones. My Dad would drive through the country, stop at every big patch we found, and get out to gather piles of my favorite flower. They’re still my favorite to this very day. I never see one without remembering those rides with my parents and my Dad’s patience with me.
We also loved to ride around and look at the redbud trees as they decorated the West Virginia hills in vivid colors. Perhaps the best part was the laughter and the love shared during those rides to the beauty of the show spring was putting on for us. I’m sure as a child, I didn’t realize that, but it’s so clear to me now that I’m older.
My parents also loved to count the deer we would see on an evening ride. It was a tradition we carried on as long as they were able. While some see deer as a nuisance and aggravation, my parents were always thrilled at a high count of deer on an evening ride. Throw in a fox or an owl or perhaps a bobcat and it was a perfect evening for us all.
My Mom lived to gather wild lettuce and poke greens in the spring. Yet another ride we always enjoyed taking. Mom would take her favorite kitchen utensil and a paper bag, and we would set off. I remember climbing up some sketchy embankments to get the best wild lettuce. It was like a big adventure for me as a kid. If the day was successful, that night, we would have killed lettuce and onions made from the wild lettuce and fried potatoes, along with some other things. The next day we would have the poke greens cooked and served with brown beans. My Mom loved her foraged food better than a 5-star meal.
While all these days are long gone, I hope my reminiscing reminds you to take time to stop and smell the flowers.
