Recently I was traversing the family farm in our ATV. The drought-stricken terrain was a rough ocean of native grasses, yellow and parched. The view was broken by the occasional renegade mesquite that had somehow avoided the whining blade of my husband's predatory chain saw. In the distance stately cottonwood trees stood like leafy sentinels, shimmering in the breeze. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a clump of majestic purple flowers rose out of the prairie and took me by surprise. My eyes had grown accustomed to the dry, colorless land, and the bold, lavish color of the flowers made me stop and marvel. As I gazed over the land, I noticed splashes of purple grew like beacons in a sea of mediocrity. The farm had not seen significant rainfall in over a year; yet flowers as beautiful as any sold in a garden center greenhouse dotted the earth.
Suddenly I could imagine myself in another place and time. I could have been a pioneer woman crossing the prairie, following the dreams of a husband with wanderlust. Having left the comforts of home and family in the east, what could have given me the courage to continue the journey to an unknown, uncertain future? Hope would be the motivator, hope in the form of a clump of purple flowers punctuating the prairie with unprecedented beauty.
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