All Rileyed Up

The Flower Fields of Carlsbad are open from March through May, fifty acres of Giant Tecolote Ranunculus flowers, in a rainbow of colors.

Saturday was Bluegrass Day at the Flower Fields, so our frolicking amongst the flora was accompanied by the strains of stringed instrument-picking. Guitars and mandolins and fiddles and banjoes and upright basses. I heard a lovely rendition of A Man of Constant Sorrow, which always puts a smile on my face, since anything that makes me think of George Clooney puts a smile on my face.

We went for a wagon ride to get into the fields and halfway through, took the option to get off the wagon and walk the rest of the way down, so that we could, well, stop and smell the flowers. From the top of the hill, the rows of flowers slope down and the ocean is the horizon. From the bottom of the hill, the same rows of flowers rise above you to the sky. And because there are so many rows, you wonder if you’re looking at a different set of flowers because the red that was so vibrant when you were at the top of the hill is now practically unnoticeable, and you realize you didn’t even know that there were any violet flowers when you were standing at the top, but they’re putting on a show of brilliance now that you’re at the bottom. The best place is to stand, though, is the middle of the hill, because you can look from side to side, and the colors stretch beyond the limit of your sight. What a wonderful feeling to stand in a field of flowers, while a breeze keeps your skin cool even though you’re standing in the sunshine. (I have come to realize that part of that exquisite feeling may have been due to an ingestion of pollen, but that’s a whole other unexciting story, unless you think comparing decongestant brands is exciting).

The Boy and Little No Limit had a blast, taking the opportunity to announce all the different colors they saw. I encouraged them to count the flowers, though neither of them really got past 20. We went through a human maze grown out of sweet peas, which was fun because it smelled so nice (another possible contribution to my aforementioned decongestant issue).

There is a playground inside the Flower Fields, called Santa’s Village, and the kids can play in cutesy cottages and monkey bars to work off all that energy so there’s room for more fresh lemonade. I chose to sit in a shady spot which happened to be under the roof of one of the little cottage themed playhouses, only this one had a lock on it, so I guessed it was a storage place for cleaning tools for the playground area. I didn’t think twice about it, but EVERY SINGLE CHILD needed to know. What’s behind the door? Why is the door locked? I want to go in this one! Why? Why? Why?
(More importantly, why did they keep asking me? So what, I’m sitting in the front of the door. Do I look like The Keeper of the Door That is Locked?)

Are you the Gate Keeper?

My mother in law made the joke that it was Pandora’s Box, in which case, I’m glad the door remained locked, because surely the first thing any evils set loose would do would be to ruin all the pretty flowers, and take a look—they are lovely, aren’t they?