Here comes the sun (doo doo doo doo)

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here

A girlfriend recently asked if I wanted to see the sunflowers at Badger Creek. Midway through a rough year with a battered social calendar, she didn’t have to ask twice. Wednesday looked like the best weather, so we arranged to meet in Van Meter — just 30 minutes from Des Moines. After Badger Creek, we’d head to nearby Winterset and picnic, hike, explore.

Word was out. On a rare comfortable July morning, we had company. Along with others, we quickly found our place in the four-acre field, completely captivated by the flower power.

Young moms with kids posed for sweet photos.

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces

Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here

My friend Amanda and her little ones on their Badger Creek visit

Days after the trip I relied on my photo gallery to help me revisit the day — the flowers, conversation, the castle-like Clark Tower (and the mom with her six kids at the top), the old-time dime store, the Bridges of Madison County ...

It had been a picture-perfect day — a much-needed, healthy distraction from sad news and wedding/concert/vacation cancellations — a break in the clouds.

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting

Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear

I’ve always liked sunflowers, but now I was curious about them. Later I’d learn that the Badger Creek sunflowers had been planted in crop-like rows to draw wildlife.

I also read a little about Vincent van Gogh, including 5 things you need to learn about Van Gogh’s Sunflowers:

“His fellow painters thought that sunflowers were perhaps somewhat coarse and unrefined. But this is exactly what Vincent liked ... He gave sunflowers the lead role in several paintings.

After he died, friends brought sunflowers with them to his funeral. Sunflowers became synonymous with Vincent, just as he had hoped.”

While Van Gogh painted his sunflowers in the south of France, I could imagine him painting here in Dallas or Madison county.

Near Hogback Bridge, one of the Madison County bridges, my friend and I crossed paths with a couple from Eastern Iowa. We asked the woman if she knew what the nearby purple flowers were. She didn’t but shared that she was supposed to be in Paris, checking into her hotel, for her daughter’s wedding and also touring the lavender fields. She was remarkably upbeat, happy to have found an unexpected field of purple here at home. And somewhere in the exchange, she told us that she was born in Russia.

Purple field near Hogback Bridge in Madison County

My niece had to cancel her September weddings, one in South Bend, one in Ecuador, home to her fiancé and his family. To varying degrees, we’re all weathering the dark storm of loss and heartache brought on by this pandemic. But we can still look for silver linings and purple fields.

The chance meeting with the woman at the bridge was one small part of the simple joy of a day trip with a good friend.

We had some laughs reading the teen-love bridge graffiti and browsing at the Ben Franklin. The shopping tradition started a decade earlier on a trip with other girlfriends to Winterset.

One of the scenic covered bridges of Madison County

Our picnic revealed this fun fact: My friend and I both like Fig Newtons. And later we had to laugh when we were denied ice cream in Winterset because the local shop only took cash. It reminded me of when we were two broke girls and scraped together enough to visit San Francisco and to see James Brown.

At San Fran's Fairmont Hotel when we purchased overpriced photos of ourselves and got the sax player's autograph

Where's a good professional photographer when you need one?

This July outing wasn’t extraordinary. It came together over a few days, texts, gallons of gas, food in our fridge, and $1.50 for postcards and candy stick “smokes” at Ben Franklin.

Maybe it took a pandemic for me to fully appreciate the everyday and ordinary right here at home.

Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo, here comes the sun

And I say it's all right

© 2020 by Catherine Broderick Medina