Spring is just around the corner. I know because the buttercups are blooming right along side the flutterbups. You can’t always trust them, sometimes they pop up and hold their little heads high above the snow, but mostly, when you see them, you can start looking for your shorts. I have a particular field of buttercups that I always look for, planted on “the home place” by my great grandma Fannie Taylor, affectionately known throughout the family as “Mammy”. Every year, when that field where the old house stood turns yellow, we stop one afternoon to pick Mammy’s buttercups. There is no real need, I have some of them transplanted to my house, as does my mom and my grandma, but there is something nice about walking across that field where my grandpa played and worked as a little boy and my mom learned to ride a bike. So, in the spirit of connection and the little rituals that make us who we are, won’t you join me now as we stand and make the classic, Mamie Taylor.
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