“The first of the season,” Jared said, as he presented me with this a few minutes ago:
He never forgets the first one of the season.
We don’t have many yard flowers at the moment. In Iowa, the lady who owned our house before us had a yard full of flowers. He presented me with flowers from the yard near daily. At our Villa Rica house, it was the occasional rose from the Confederate Rose plant, the only one that survived of the batch I insisted we plant one year.
It doesn’t matter what the flower is. If there is one, he’ll find it. Today, Feb. 3, the first one of the season, for me. From him.
I’m a lucky girl.