Indian Paintbrush

My mom absolutely loved wildflowers. If you had asked her what her favorite flower was, wildflowers would have been her response. She loved anything that grew wild in nature.

Her favorite wildflower was the Indian Paintbrush.  Whenever I see one now it reminds me of her, and I think about all of the memories that I have of my childhood when we would stop to pick one anytime we saw them.  It didn't matter if we were camping or driving through the canyon, she would always stop. Her favorite thing to do was take them home and press them, but the first thing she would do was take a small piece of the flower and stick it behind my ear. Every time.  

In Moab, the desert is sprinkled with Indian Paintbrush. Every time I saw one while we were out on the trails I had an urge to get out of the Jeep and take a picture.  After the first twenty, I started to realize that it was a little excessive, so I stopped.  It's funny how the little things in life make you remember the ones that we've lost.  To anyone else it's just a little red flower, but to me it's so much more than that.  It's like having a little piece of her there.