As a kid, mom would always stop the car on the way home from grandma’s to look at the “ballerina” flowers, as we called them. I spotted this one while picking up litter along the road at the farm today. Each time I see these flowers, it instantly takes me back to childhood. Typically we were all exhausted on a Sunday afternoon after filling our bellies with grandma’s cooking and swimming in the pool for hours. We smelled of chlorine and sunblock, our faces rosy red from the sun and heads still damp. But as tired as we might have been, we would stop at the end of grandma’s road to see if any flowers were there in the ditch. As fate would have it, I would later meet my wife and learn that these are one of the many types of passionflower. Megan’s family has a tie to these flowers – her uncle is an expert on passiflora taxonomy and has authored a book and many papers about them, and even has a species named after him.
1987 model, gently used, a little rusty. Husband to Megan. I have the best dog in the world – a mutt named Tucker (Tuck, or Tucker J). We have a farm with 3 horses, 2 barn cats, and 2 house cats. I was born in the most beautiful place on earth – the mountains of Western North Carolina – and have returned here. First generation college graduate. I’m an introvert with a very extroverted job. Large animal veterinarian. I enjoy playing piano, quite walks along the creek, craft beer, life-giving conversation, scuba diving, riding horses, and mowing. I like to write, but don’t get to do it enough. I enjoy non-fiction, biographies, and progessive Christian thought. I hate the texture of most soft things – think dryer lint and cotton balls and ridiculous fleecy blankets. I love the smell of silage, horses, a leather shop, and the hardware store. I live for moments of unexpectedly laughing to tears and crampy cheeks, and to feel and smell the cold air right before it snows.
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