I have always loved poppies, but the poppies grown by my fella's father are extra-special. Just ask this little guy:
Every time I have visited R's family farm in Saskatchewan, I am greeted by a riot of brilliantly coloured poppies in the garden behind the house. There are hundreds and hundreds of them in seemingly perpetual motion; even the slightest breeze seems to make them flutter and sway.
Legend has it that the current crop are descendants of poppies that were grown at R's childhood home in Winnipeg. When his parents moved out to the farm, they brought the seeds with them and scattered them in the garden. Every year since, the "Millikin Road Poppies" have bloomed and flourished in their adopted home.
The real magic to me, though, lies in their nonchalance. Once they have finished blooming, and just the stems and seed-pods remain, they are unceremoniously mown down and forgotten about. That is, until the following spring when they return to bask in the hot prairie sunshine and dance in the wind.