Read by Matilda Longbottom

If you’ve ever swerved to avoid a pothole while shouting, “Forsythia is blooming—Spring has arrived!” then welcome, dear friend, to the elite (and slightly distracted) club of plant lovers. Here, road signs and speed limits are mere suggestions when the landscape is bursting with blooms.

It always starts innocently enough. You’re driving along, minding your own business, when a shock of sunny forsythia bursts forth from the Winter-brown monotony. The first herald of Spring! Your heart skips a beat as you grin like you’ve just spotted an old friend. Then, as if Mother Nature herself is teasing you, the redbuds appear, sprinkling the landscape with tiny floral fireworks. “Could I plant one of those?” you wonder aloud. “Maybe three. They’d look stunning outside my office window.”

Suddenly—SWERVE! A pothole nearly claims your right tire. You narrowly escape but hardly notice because, oh, look—daffodils!

Golden and gleaming, daffodils are the divas of Spring. Some stand tall and regal like a brass section in an orchestra, while others are small and shy, peeking out timidly. My mind whirls with possibilities: should I add more to the garden this year? Could I finally outwit those pesky chickens who devoured every last daffodil bud during The Great Hen Incident? (Dark times, indeed.)

But I digress. Back on the road, tulips come into view. Vibrant flames of red, yellow, and orange shoot up from the earth like nature’s exclamation points. I’m transported to memories of my mom’s bold row of crimson tulips—glorious, until the deer turned them into an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Would tulips survive here in Atlanta?” I wonder aloud. My musings drift toward forcing bulbs indoors next Winter. An amaryllis, perhaps?

“Mom, watch the speed hump!” my kids yell, pulling me from my tulip-induced trance.

Then, azaleas arrive, heralding the Southern gardener’s equivalent of cherry-blossom season. Pinks, whites, and salmons sweep across neighborhoods in waves of color. I slow down to savor the spectacle, ignoring the impatient drivers zooming around me. “Mom, people are passing you!” my kids groan. I smile and wave, completely at peace with my botanical detour.

By Summer, my floral fixation turns to sunflowers, jasmine, and figs. Oh, the figs! My thoughts spiral into fantasies of fig, goat cheese, and balsamic salads. Chocolate sunflowers also make their entrance, their dark petals so dramatic that I consider dedicating an entire bed to them.

“Oops, missed my turn,” I admit cheerfully, circling back. Who needs GPS when there are sunflowers to guide you?

And gardenias—oh, gardenias. Their perfume alone is enough to transport me to a tropical paradise. I pass them along fences, nestled by mailboxes, and even near the community pool. “Mom, stop following that mulch truck!” my kids plead. What can I say? The aroma of fresh cedar mulch is intoxicating, and visions of hydrangeas and cannas nestled in pine straw dance in my head.

Even Winter has its distractions: ruby red holly berries gleam like jewels on a crown, and nandina clusters stand out against the muted backdrop. “Mom, the curb!” someone yells as I dreamily ponder making wreaths from those berries for next Christmas.

By now, you’re probably wondering how I’ve survived this long without a bumper sticker that reads, “I Brake for Blooms.” Truth is, my love for plants far outpaces my driving skills.

So, to all my fellow garden enthusiasts: Drive safely, brake for blooms, and if you simply must admire the azaleas, do it in park.

My passengers—and every driver on the road—will thank you. ❖

About the Author: Dana Zullo lives in Georgia, where she finds inspiration for her poetry, floral art, and lighthearted stories in everyday joys. Her work has been featured in Paprika Southern, Front Porch Review, and GreenPrints. Dana, a devoted gardener and floral artist with the Ichiyo School of Ikebana, also shares her passion for art through her residencies in SC, AR, and TN. A former Peace Corps art teacher in Ghana, she now crafts whimsical tales of family adventures and the beauty of growing together.