I have become enchanted with England’s wild poppies! They are a national symbol of remembrance and support for the Armed Forces, and a common site upon lapels in November leading up to Remembrance Day. It all started in WWI, when Flanders poppies were the only thing to flourish in battered, blasted, and bombed landscapes.
During early summer, the wild poppies arrived and I was so excited to see tiny pops of red appearing here and there. They seem to have an uncanny ability to crop up just about anywhere. You see them along roadside berms, next to livestock fields, or even just between two bricks on a wall! I find this so charming of them!
There are also beautiful fields filled with them. Apparently, wild poppy fields will never repeat themselves in the same location twice. How they germinate and spread so successfully without human intervention, only a botanist would know, but the most likely sites are uncultivated crop fields. How elusive!
What I love most about them, is that they don’t keep well. Trust me, I’ve tried. After an hour in a vase, they look wilted and limp. Just sad. But when left in their self-selected site, they are a feast for the eyes for many weeks! There is surely a lesson to be learned there. If I was sleeping through the night yet, maybe I could wax poetic about it. But I’m not. At this point, it’s all I can manage to write ‘poppy’ instead of ‘poopy’.
Apparently, I must be quite vocal about my adoration of the poppies. One day, T2 asked me during our daily game of Would You Rather, “Mom, would you rather smell a fresh and clean baby or a poppy?” Whooooaaahhh hoho! That’a girl! Admittedly, poppies are not very fragrant, but I give it to the girl for playing a tough game of Would You Rather! I mean, nothing beats the smell of a fresh and clean baby, (one of my most favorite things on Earth) but my new love of poppies might be a close second! Now that I think about it, maybe she meant ‘poopy’? Naaaahhhh…that would be too easy.
So yes, the family spent many an evening in the poppy fields and I risked life and limb several times to find a safe photography vantage along our rural English roads.
And nothing humbles a pap mom like a little one that says he’s had enough poppies. Fair enough.
Onward with the photo dump. I hope you enjoy my darlings as much as I do. And the poopies. I mean poppies.
Use Your Accent 