Read Online Sisterchicks in Wooden Shoes! by Robin Jones Gunn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin Jones Gunn
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least once in my life I did something I wanted to do
.
Noelle turned the car into the large parking area at the tulip gardens. The lot was filled with cars as well as tour buses. We weren’t the only ones who had decided to visit the tulips that morning, and I soon saw why.
The attention to detail in the opening to the park was breathtaking, with a path leading us into a garden area with blossom-filled trees. Carefully laid-out groupings of brilliant yellow daffodils were circled by stalwart grape hyacinth. Bunches of red tulips stood together like a squirming elementary school choir ready to break into song as soon as the first note of spring wasstruck. A sea of thick green grass surrounded all the flowers and trees.
I stopped and pulled out my camera.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking pictures.”
“Already? This is only the entrance,” Noelle said, “not the flower fields.”
“But it’s so beautiful.”
She looked around at what I was admiring. Behind her flowed a steady stream of visitors moving on toward whatever it was that lay past the end of this carefully designed path.
“You’re right. It is beautiful. Do you want me to take a picture of you with the tulips in the background?”
“No, I just want the tulips.” I snapped shots and was grateful we had entered the digital age. I would have gone broke on all the rolls of film I would have needed to snap pictures to my heart’s content.
“Here, stand right where you are. Look this way.” She had pulled out her camera and was taking a picture of me anyway. With her face still behind the camera, she said, “This is so I will keep my promise.”
“What promise?”
“I promised that one day, when you came to the Netherlands, I would take your picture so your smile could end up on someone’s refrigerator. Do you remember?”
I smiled broadly. Yes, I remembered. And so did she. That was what made our friendship golden.
“Come.” Noelle motioned for me to join her in the flow of people moving toward whatever tributary lay at the end of this garden path. We stayed on the walkway, taking our time to view the meticulously groomed flower beds that lined the lane. Photo ops were presented to us at every turn.
At the end of the trail, we came into an open view of a flat field alive with color. Rows of flawless bright tulips filled the space as if they were a lake reflecting a sunset with ribbons of red, yellow, pink, orange, and white. All the rows were perfectly lined up. The eager-to-please tulips stretched toward the powder blue sky, strong and brave on their vivid pogo-stick stems.
I never had seen anything like it. I never had felt such speechless appreciation for something as simple as flowers. I wanted to cry but had no tears. Only a tightening in my throat.
“What do you think?” Noelle took off her sunglasses and looked at me as if trying to read my expression.
“It’s…beautiful.”
“Wait until you see them up close. Come.” Noelle led the way with her camera in hand.
The tulips grew in mounds of rich, dark earth. Between the straight rows of tulip mounds were well-trampled “gutters” in which visitors were permitted to walk through the muddied earth to get up close and personal with the upturned beauties. Hundreds of visitors strolled up and down the designated narrow pathways between the blooms. The groupings of people seemed to bob along in the lake of beauty like sailboats and rowboats set adrift on a calm day.
The first row we traversed bore white tulips. I stopped to stare. At a distance they looked like simple ivory tulips. Up close the delicate flowers became more intricate. They had what looked like ruffles along the top edges. Inside the cuplike petals were faint streaks of pale pink you wouldn’t notice unless you stared straight down into them to discover their hidden beauty.
“Unbelievable,” I said under my breath.
Noelle snapped a picture of me bending close to examine the details of a white
.
Noelle turned the car into the large parking area at the tulip gardens. The lot was filled with cars as well as tour buses. We weren’t the only ones who had decided to visit the tulips that morning, and I soon saw why.
The attention to detail in the opening to the park was breathtaking, with a path leading us into a garden area with blossom-filled trees. Carefully laid-out groupings of brilliant yellow daffodils were circled by stalwart grape hyacinth. Bunches of red tulips stood together like a squirming elementary school choir ready to break into song as soon as the first note of spring wasstruck. A sea of thick green grass surrounded all the flowers and trees.
I stopped and pulled out my camera.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking pictures.”
“Already? This is only the entrance,” Noelle said, “not the flower fields.”
“But it’s so beautiful.”
She looked around at what I was admiring. Behind her flowed a steady stream of visitors moving on toward whatever it was that lay past the end of this carefully designed path.
“You’re right. It is beautiful. Do you want me to take a picture of you with the tulips in the background?”
“No, I just want the tulips.” I snapped shots and was grateful we had entered the digital age. I would have gone broke on all the rolls of film I would have needed to snap pictures to my heart’s content.
“Here, stand right where you are. Look this way.” She had pulled out her camera and was taking a picture of me anyway. With her face still behind the camera, she said, “This is so I will keep my promise.”
“What promise?”
“I promised that one day, when you came to the Netherlands, I would take your picture so your smile could end up on someone’s refrigerator. Do you remember?”
I smiled broadly. Yes, I remembered. And so did she. That was what made our friendship golden.
“Come.” Noelle motioned for me to join her in the flow of people moving toward whatever tributary lay at the end of this garden path. We stayed on the walkway, taking our time to view the meticulously groomed flower beds that lined the lane. Photo ops were presented to us at every turn.
At the end of the trail, we came into an open view of a flat field alive with color. Rows of flawless bright tulips filled the space as if they were a lake reflecting a sunset with ribbons of red, yellow, pink, orange, and white. All the rows were perfectly lined up. The eager-to-please tulips stretched toward the powder blue sky, strong and brave on their vivid pogo-stick stems.
I never had seen anything like it. I never had felt such speechless appreciation for something as simple as flowers. I wanted to cry but had no tears. Only a tightening in my throat.
“What do you think?” Noelle took off her sunglasses and looked at me as if trying to read my expression.
“It’s…beautiful.”
“Wait until you see them up close. Come.” Noelle led the way with her camera in hand.
The tulips grew in mounds of rich, dark earth. Between the straight rows of tulip mounds were well-trampled “gutters” in which visitors were permitted to walk through the muddied earth to get up close and personal with the upturned beauties. Hundreds of visitors strolled up and down the designated narrow pathways between the blooms. The groupings of people seemed to bob along in the lake of beauty like sailboats and rowboats set adrift on a calm day.
The first row we traversed bore white tulips. I stopped to stare. At a distance they looked like simple ivory tulips. Up close the delicate flowers became more intricate. They had what looked like ruffles along the top edges. Inside the cuplike petals were faint streaks of pale pink you wouldn’t notice unless you stared straight down into them to discover their hidden beauty.
“Unbelievable,” I said under my breath.
Noelle snapped a picture of me bending close to examine the details of a white
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