As If I Had Dropped Into Provence

Head north on Roswell Road, over the Chattahoochee River, through downtown Roswell with its quaint town square, across multi-laned, always-congested Holcolm Bridge Road, where the road changes names to Alpharetta Highway. Wind through another small town center, getting cuter each year with brick-fronted antique shops, a flower shop, a boutique, a cafe named Mittie's. Keep going north, where the road changes names yet again, this time to Atlanta Highway, where just last year it was a vast expanse of kudzu-covered fields, perhaps a new strip mall or two, a tree-less new neighborhood. Now, both sides of the road are lined with orange cones and construction crews, seemingly endlessly. I see the For Sale sign from a distance and think perhaps, these fields, too, had fallen to the hand of urban sprawl.

But no. It wasn't yet another sign for Pulte or Centex Homes for Sale, 200K and Up. Or Build to Suit. Or Parcel Available. It was Sunflowers for Sale. Three vast fields of Sunflowers for Sale. As if I had dropped into Provence. As if the chipmunks who convisgate every last sunflower seed in my garden had been kept in the dark about the thousands of sunflower seeds that had been quietly awakening in the fertile soil and exploding upon one of the last remaining pieces of arable land on this route.

I pulled into the driveway of the third field, the one in complete bloom right now, where there stood a wooden stand that said The Anderson's, with a sign that said, Honor System: Cut Your Own Sunflowers. And sure enough, several other people were wandering in the field, including an older woman who had set up a still life display, complete with a round table, beautiful tablecloth and a vase of sunflowers, which she was photographing.

"I came here the other day to take pictures of my grandchildren," she told me, "and I got an idea, to put a vase of flowers in the middle of a field of flowers. I haven't been able to get it out of my head."

I can't get it out of my head, either, these fields of sunflowers. Once this land is gone, it's gone. But for now, the flowers are free for the lookin', yours for the pickin', half a dozen for four bucks. There are buckets of sunflowers already picked, or cut the exact ones you want, as fresh as they come. Bring your camera, your kids, your grandchildren. But don't wait until next year. I can't promise you what you'll find.

Directions: This way is faster. Take 400 North to McFarland. Get off at the exit, make a u-turn (you can't make a left getting off). Take McFarland to Atlanta Hwy (which is Route 9, which is Alpharetta Hwy, which is Roswell Road, but father north and I don't see Route 9 signs there). Make right. Go about ten minutes or so. It's on the right. You can't miss it. There are three fields total. Go to the last one--there's a driveway which leads to the house, the little shed, etc. Don't stop at the previous two unless you are very careful or you may fall into a ditch, as I saw a woman do today. She almost tumbled over, but somehow made it back out. Scary.

Bring clippers. You probably have a couple weeks to still catch the blooms. The middle field is almost all in bloom, and the first field is just starting.

As If I Had Dropped Into Provence