There was a time, surely not that long ago, that one of my children would burst through the back door, leaving it wide opened in a flurry of excitement, in their little clinched fist would be a small bunch of clover heads, buttercups and dandelion flowers. With beaming faces of joy I was handed these wild treasures.
On this April day I did not have little hands to gather these wild treasures and bring them to me, so I picked my own.
