For most of my life I have staunchly declared that I hate flowers. They don’t last long enough, they are a waste of money, and they are certainly not useful. My dislike was strong enough that different dates have often given me chocolate instead of the customary flowers (although I graciously accepted flowers when they were unaware). As I think about visiting the flower fields as a young child, I am reminded of a feeling of extreme boredom. Strolling through fifty acres of Rananculus flowers? For hours? I don’t think the 1,500 square foot green house filled with Poinsettias held my attention either. Not even the views of the Pacific Ocean from the fields could impress me at that age. Perhaps the tractor ride would have been fun, but at $5 a person my parents would not have taken me on it.