...was early in the morning the Monday following the final weekend of the Tulip festival. A few of the fields had already been cut, but most were still standing, and there were no crowds. My favorite memory was wandering deep up a tractor path, acres of shimmery red to my right, acres of briliant yellow to my left, the delicate fresh scent subtle over the earthy smell of the wet loam. Then, turning around to face the east and Mt. Baker snowcapped before me.