Of all the beautiful images of flowers that I captured at Carlsbad Flower Fields in southern California, these two were the most meaningful to me.  I sat and watched the families photograph one another amongst the blooms that swayed in the breeze.  My eye was caught by a row of solid magenta interrupted by one stark, white blossom.  

Yet, beyond all of these gorgeous moments, I was focused in on these men.  I considered family origins – my roots.  My grandfather, as a boy, ran the streets of LA.   As a young man, one of his many jobs was to tend carnation fields.  I imagined him so many years ago (He turns 90 this year.) working hard for himself and his family to have what I now have.  I considered the three generations of journeying through constant work, hope, pain, poverty, discrimination, assimilation to stability, security, safety, more hard work and prosperity.  I envisioned the dichotomy, the gap, the chasm that lay between where I was, on vacation looking at pretty flowers, and where he was, working so damn hard for everything he has.  A few yards of distance.  An entire world apart. 

I felt grateful for my history, grateful for where I stood at that moment and hopeful for him.