Crocuses

For as long as I can remember, my dad has picked crocuses for my mom.  When we'd wake up in the morning and find a little bowl of crocuses on the table, it was official.  Spring had arrived.  As kids, it was an adventure to comb the pastures looking for the BEST crocus to take home to mom.  We'd arrive, covered in mud and who knows what, with these poor haggard and straggly crocuses.  She'd always, always, put them all in a bowl and proudly display them to every neighbor* who stopped by for coffee.  Every time I see a crocus, real or in a picture, I think of my mom. 

A few years ago, she mentioned** she'd like a painting.  Of course, I let her pick what she wanted and it didn't surprise me when she picked a crocus.

Crocuses (16x11)

*Neighbor being defined as anyone who lived in a 10-15 mile radius.  Ah, farm life.
**As in asking (in that mom-guilt tone) why she hadn't received a painting when both my brother and sister had.