Thoughts on life from Pat Oaks
Years ago, when my grandson Caleb (Cal) was a little boy, he and his parents were visiting our trailer in Elizabethton. His Daddy was building us a deck on the back of the trailer. He needed something from the lumber company which was just one street over behind our house. I said I would walk over and get it.
Cal wanted to go with Prisha (what he calls me), so of course he did! It was cold and he didn't have a coat with him so we put a sweat shirt of Papa's on him and rolled up the sleeves. It came to the tops of his shoes. We put a knit hat on his head and off we went. He was only about 2 years old at the time, so everything he saw on the walk was something to stop and examine.
As we walked in the ditch to get to the other road (we had to go a short way on the highway, and I wanted him far away from the traffic,) he saw some "flowers" that he just had to have for his Prisha. So we stopped while he picked the flowers with his chubby little hands. He held onto them tightly all the way to the lumber company and back to the trailer.
When we got to the trailer we had to find a vase for the flowers before we did anything else.
That was over 20 years ago...actually 22 to be exact. Cal has moved to California now and I haven't seen him, except on face time, for 4 years. But I still have his "flowers," and every time I see them I remember that little hand in mine, walking to the lumber company and stopping to pick flowers on the way
Are weeds flowers? Yes.