Sunflowers

     We are in our third day of 80 degree temperatures here in my part of North Carolina.  My brother tilled up the garden on the edge of my back yard today.  When I got home from school, I went outside to see and smell that just turned earth.  I love when it's time to start the garden each year because it reminds me so much of my daddy.
     "What are we planting this year?" I called out to my brother.
     When we were growing up, each summer brought with it the chore of helping in the garden.  My three brothers and I would plant and water and weed and harvest.  My daddy would till the soil with a hand held plow.  It was hard work for him.  He grew all sorts of vegetables, but at the end of each row, he always planted sunflowers.  As a little girl, I loved those huge, happy yellow flowers more than anything in that garden!
     Even when my daddy was getting older, that garden kept him busy; it gave him purpose.  He loved going outside and getting his hands in the soil and seeing what he could grow in the red clay of our back yard.  He was a master at coaxing life from the seeds he planted and nurturing those seedlings into piles of vegetables that mama and I canned or froze as a defense against the dark, bland days of winter.  A vibrant yellow sunflower would always come inside with the harvest--a beautiful offering of love from my daddy to my mama.
     "This year, I'm going to plant some sunflowers."