I don’t like Canola and I don’t care for yellow, but that’s what our field is full of every other year. The kids love it. They quad down to the field and check the crop, hold the black seeds in their hands and announce that they’re ready for harvest. He climbs the “mountain” and yells at the top of his lungs, and she hides in the long grass. This is the site of many an adventure. It’s where we come to attend frog church in the spring. It’s where we dump shrub clippings after we do yardwork in the summer. It’s where we go on “adventures” (which is really just walks around our property) every fall.

I want to remember how sensitive she is to grass tickling her legs. I want to remember him trudging through the crop, arm rotating around arm, pretending to be a combine. This is our life together. So I’m embracing the color and enduring those yellow flowers. They only get one childhood and I want to remember.