It was 1982 when I moved to Maine, from California. I was seven, and when my mom told me we were moving, I was devastated. We lived in San Jose, with all my friends and I did not want to go. I did not want to go live in the country, in some old house, with no other homes in sight.
My mind changed when she told me there would be fields of wild flowers to pick, and gave me a sun hat, and basket to carry my flowers in.
We moved in December, and instead of fields of wild flowers, there were ugly trees with no leaves, ice and snow. She told me in the spring, the flowers would come, so I waited, and waited. I only tried to run away once. Well, okay, maybe twice.
Then, the spring came, and I was happy. I picked dandelions, and apple blossoms, buttercups, and daisies. I still look forward to that first pick. The winters are long here, but that is okay. The flowers are worth it.