Off the top of my head I can list five songs about sunflowers, two poems, and at least 30 people I went to high school with who post yearly sunflower field pictures. Not that there’s anything wrong with this, of course, I’m all for people enjoying what they’ll enjoy, but I have just never been one for sunflowers. I always thought they looked a little too menacing to be pretty, had no business being so tall, and attracted far too many bees. That being said, I do admire the impact they have on the masses every September. I grew up not too far from Yellow Springs, Ohio, and I love seeing people flock to the field to appreciate some natural beauty—plus it’s great for the local businesses. I respect the captivating spectacle that the flowers provide, but I had always done so from a distance. It wasn’t until recently that I realized what a truly amazing thing it is to have grown up so near something so enchanting. It’s been a normal part of the lazy early fall days for as long as I can remember that I guess it had lost some of its appeal, and since I had never been myself, I didn’t have any strong memories tied to it. However, I was telling my college friends about it and they all seemed so entranced. I realized that it could be a great experience to grab a couple friends and show them one of the most charming places I know while also getting to discover something new in my own home.
We picked a glowing Saturday in mid-September and set out with the sun freshly ablaze in the blue expanse of sky. I brought two of my friends along with me for a very big day in little Yellow Springs. Our destination is technically only big enough to be considered a village, but it has enough character to put Cincinnati to shame. It embodies the idea of a close-knit neighborhood, and it is an idyllic one at that, you know, if you’re into peace, acceptance, art, nature, all that kind of stuff. Even the trash cans along the street are dressed up in mosaic art. I know of at least three stores that have resident cats to greet visitors.
We wandered through a little street fair that was happening outside the iconic Ha Ha Pizza (the place to eat) before doing anything else. I was drawn in particular to the kindly old man sitting under a lime green tent. He had a straw hat on, and he was running his hands over a deck of tarot cards that had obviously seen the love and use of a great many years. The energy he exuded made me feel comforted and safe. I would have trusted him with my life, but it seemed like a better bet to trust him with my fortune. I received some words of advice from this man that I really needed at the time, and I proceeded through the day with a sense of calm restored to my headspace that I had not even realized was missing. Yellow Springs has a magic that works in wonderful ways.
After a refreshing lunch at the deli, we made our way to the main event. The sunflower field was, for lack of a better word, poppin’. The grass parking field was packed, and it was impossible to make it down a row of flowers without physically running into another person. There were families, couples, groups of friends, just about any type of person you could imagine. My friends and I danced our way to the far end of the field, bumping hips with the waist-high flowers and occasionally taking a hit to the gut from a particularly hefty one swinging back into the path. The soft beams of late afternoon sun kissed bare shoulders for what would be one of the last good days of the season. From deep in the field, it was easy to admire the sea of gold around us. I was immersed in something special, beautiful, and felt beyond lucky to share such a simple delight with such good friends, and beyond that, such a lovely community. There is a reason people migrate to the field from near and far during those hazy dog days that are cradled between summer and autumn. I maintain that the flowers are strange, but now that I’ve seen them for myself, I get it. There is something to be said about the way they stand up, tall and proud, turning their faces to the sun for a breath of glowing warmth. Their large, strange magnificence put us to awed silence for a few heavy moments, allowing us to breathe in the sun and sky with them and pause our busy lives for just a second to appreciate the quiet power of nature and companionship.
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