|Sunflowers at the Etsell farm, 1974|
Fortunately, once I grew brave enough to admit that the flowers scared me, my parents (or perhaps it was my grandparents) allowed me to harvest one of the ripe heads. I could barely lift the flowerhead; it had the same diameter as a large serving tray, and was several centimetres thick. I sat down on the grass and spent the afternoon plucking out seeds, shelling them, and snacking on them as I enjoyed the sunshine and watched the tall grass sway gently in the soft summer wind.
That was a good day.