Sunflowers

Ah, the end of August and the beginning of September—it’s Kansas Sunflower Parade time, folks! That magical moment when the fields around Lawrence burst into a sea of yellow. There’s this one farm, Grinters or sunflower central, where the blooms stretch as far as the eye can see. But, of course, this year, my globetrotting ways meant I was running a bit late to the party. So there I was, sneaking in one final sunset with the sunflowers—Chippie by my side, and a whole lot of droopy blooms that seemed to be nodding at me like, “Yep, we had a good run, didn’t we?”

Now, usually, these sunflowers tower over me like botanical giants, but this year? Shoulder height. Not too tall, not too short—just a little drought-stunted Goldilocks situation thanks to a few weeks of no rain. Still, the field is packed with thousands of them, like a sunflower army standing at ease. As the sun dips below the horizon, the colors start doing their thing—yellow, green, blue, and even a touch of red. Honestly, it felt like I’d stumbled into a Van Gogh painting. Nature’s version of a fireworks show, and boy, was I mesmerized, despite knowing these beauties had been meticulously planned and planted.

Growing up, we had our own sunflower extravaganza in the garden. Every year, those big, green plants would rise up like something out of a fairy tale, exploding into yellow and black glory. When they eventually hung their heads, we’d dry the seeds, saving them for the next year. And so, the sunflower cycle of life would continue, year after glorious year. Ah, the simple joys of a well-timed sunflower bloom.