fortysomething as well.I'll leave it in both places.
Each evening on my way home, I round a particular curve about a mile from my home and come upon a place where there is room for one car to pull over on the shoulder. It's been empty for the winter, but I noticed tonight that the table is back out.
It is a round, redwood, picnic table. There is never a bench or chair, but in the summer there is often a green canvas market umbrella through the middle. Tonight there were six empty vases on it.
The sight brought a smile to my face for what it represents.
The table's owner sells flowers. The house is up the hill, above the table. The fields where the flowers are grown, a couple of acres, are just across the street. Soon I will come past, and the vases will be filled. It is a "back way" road, but well traveled. We all know the table is there.
The way it works is that you stop, pick out a bouquet, pay, and continue on your way. If you drive on, you still enjoy the beauty. The flowers are nearly always there.
What is not there is a person. There is simply a sign saying how much, and a small box with a lid to leave the money in. It's all on the honor system, even at 11:00 at night. The flowers aren't taken, neither is the money.
... and I find such a thing to be the best part of it all.
