Sunflowers and Ice Cream — Part 1
Not everyone was happy to see us.
Some places just stay with you. I visited this sunflower field a few years ago and the memory of standing among all that yellow never quite left me. This time I came back with my camera, my friend, Michelle, and absolutely no guarantees.
We fueled up for the drive with a stop at the Blue Bell factory — $1 scoops, an unwritten rule of any proper Texas road trip. From there the five-hour round trip started the way most Houston drives do, crawling through suburbs that seem to never end. But once the city finally let go, the landscape opened up into quiet farmland and the drive became something peaceful.
The field greeted us with heat, fire ants, and mosquitoes. Standing in an open field in June, you learn quickly to watch where you step. I did not watch closely enough. Multiple bites per ankle later, the bees and a lone black butterfly somehow made it all worth it.
The fire ants were relentless. The mosquitoes were worse. But then — this.
Unbothered. Completely unbothered.
We had also spent a good while wandering through what felt like our own version of Children of the Corn — sunflowers towering over our heads, no clear path, searching for one stubborn flower facing away from the rainbow so we could get both in the same frame. Sunflowers, it turns out, do not take direction well.
Somewhere in there is a flower facing the wrong way. Probably.
As we were capturing the sunflowers, a rainbow appeared. We didn't discover the faint double rainbow until we reviewed our photos that night. It had been there the whole time, arching over the field while we chased light in the other direction.
We didn't know it was there until we got home.
Worth every fire ant bite.
Afternoon storms forced us off the field and into a Chick-fil-A for a couple of hours. We watched MyRadar, ate lunch, and waited for the cells to pass.
Somewhere between the suburbs and the open farmland, I gave Michelle a crash course on the Canon camera and lens I'd lent her — the on/off button, the shutter button, and just enough settings to get her started without overwhelming her. It was a hefty camera for a first-timer, but I knew she could handle it. The rest we'd figure out together when the light was right.
She had the on/off button down. The rest she figured out on her own.
When the coast looked clear we headed back and shot until golden hour — or what we hoped would be golden hour. Thick clouds sat heavy on the horizon and thirty minutes before sunset we packed it up, certain the light was done.
Michelle's first shot. Not bad for someone who learned the shutter button an hour earlier.
When the light finally broke through I quietly adjusted Michelle's settings for her. She didn't need to know all the why — she just needed to shoot.
Her eye. Her first camera. That's all I'm saying.
MyRadar was right. Time to go.
Driving out, I caught a flash of pink and orange behind me. I turned the SUV around.
We didn't want to unpack everything again with a storm approaching, so we improvised. Moonroof open, heads out, cameras up. We got our sunset. Five minutes later the rain came down in sheets, flooding the farm roads all the way home.
We improvised.
The light we almost missed.
Part 2 is in the works.
What I carried: Canon R6 Mark II mirrorless camera · Canon RF 24-105mm f/4L IS USM lens · EF 100-400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS II USM lens · EF-EOS R Mount Adapter · Hoya Moose Peterson Warm Circular Polarizer Filter · Really Right Stuff tripod and ballhead · Shimoda Explore V2 30L backpack · Takeya 32oz water bottle · MyRadar app
