I woke up to the rhythmic buzz of the cicadas’ hypnotic melody welcoming the Mistral’s little sister. Its whispers caressed the hazy purple stretching in neat, orderly rows across the landscape. Liquid gold transmuted the lavender fields into oceans of shimmering violet amethysts as the late June’s sun flirted with the bushy shrubs covered in delicate, spiky flowers. The hill overlooking the fields was my favorite place to take a respite from a busy week. I took a deep breath and noticed the missing scent. My eyelids, heavy with dreams, refused to let the light in, but curiosity pushed forward and peeked into a tiny patch of sky contained by a circle of towering creatures looking down at me, as lifelong neighbors look at the stranger lying drunk or dead in the middle of a street.

What the heck? I jumped to a sitting position to find myself surrounded by stems covered in coarse, bristly hairs. Round mesmerizing spirals of tiny florets nodded gently to one another before their dark brown, purplish faces swayed up to look at the bringer of life coming out of a carriage of clouds wrapped in a mantle of blinding light.

Where_ How did? I was astonished to find myself an intruder in a sunflower field, instead of a delighted witness to lavender blooms. My last recollection was sitting on my usual rock in the circle of stones at the top of the hill that overlooked the lavender fields.

“C’mon, I’m neither a sleepwalker nor a heavy sleeper! This is crazy!” I heard myself saying. One thing that could have hurl me up and tossed me down here would be a tornado. “And that would not pass undetected!” I screamed. Is this a dream? I pinched myself. “Ouch! I’m definitely awake.”

Pushing away the huge stems and leaves, I made my way across the vast, undulating expanse of vibrant gold and green casting long, dramatic shadows over me. Jumping up and down didn’t help with my sense of direction, the sea of yellow crowns stretched 360 degrees and as far as the eye could see.

“Devon would love this!” I grumbled, “He would be dancing and singing while collecting heads for their seeds!” Oops. I shouldn’t say that out loud, I reckoned, these things are way taller than me, and I’m out numbered!

My friend Devon was a chef, he loved to create colorful recipes with nuts and flowers. “You turn beauty into cleaning foam, I use it to please the soul and nurture the body.” He said to me when I complained about the sheer amount of nuts we were carrying after an afternoon in the fields. I was a soap maker, lavender was my favorite fragrance, and I got my flowers delivered! Memories flooded me.

“Close your eyes and smell this,” Devon urged.

“Oh, no, not again! Boring! Average!”

“How can you say that! In-shell, raw sunflower seeds have a very subtle nutty smell with a slight grassy undertone. Here, I roasted and salted them for you.” I scowled, “I added a touch of cayenne.” He winked.

“Devon! Change nuts!”

“Sunflower seeds are delicious, and essential for those with nut allergies.”

“I am not allergic to nuts!”

“They’re easy to crack open.”

“Cracking sunflower seeds is frustrating. How many would you need to get a decent amount in your stomach? I would starve if my life depended on them.”

“Yeah, the word ‘patience’ doesn’t exist in your dictionary,” he laughed, “but the flavor! Yum!”

“Says who!”

Devon had a frenemy competition with Whisk, the neighboring town chef known for his first-year misadventures with sauces and his whisking ability forged by the need to rescue them from breaking. Devon and Whisk, whose real name nobody remembered, had gone to culinary school together and aimed for an opportunity to join a famous restaurant in “the city”. Devon’s dream was to have his own, but working under Chef Kenji Tanaka, was his “practical-step-toward.”

My friend’s fascination with nuts, and the tendency to use ingredients everybody found “boring” gained him his nickname: RR, Renegade Roast. Once, I joined the town cooks for a trip to city fresh market, and yes, anything that the others passed, Devon put in his bag. Like the others, I went past the sunflower seeds for the pine nuts, macadamias, and pistachios. Devon’s loving expression and the careful way he picked the seeds baffled me. If I didn’t know better, I would swear they spoke to him.

His kitchen looked like a lab, full of “experiments” but instead of specimens, his bottles and jars were filled with seeds and flowers perfectly organized on the shelves. Colorful notes identified them: Nasturtium – slightly peppery. Pansy – subtle, grassy. Calendula – citrusy and tangy. Begonia – tart and lemony. The jars went on and on, naming exotic flowers, some of which I didn’t know even existed.

The town was vibrant with activity as the famous Channel 34’s Culinary Canvas TV Show was ready to be filmed at the Spa Center. Devon was frantic coming up with ideas for recipes, and I was gaining weight. Somehow, he had managed to sign me up as his taster. What was I thinking!

“Devon, I am sick of sunflowers! I am becoming a round yellow swaying creature.”

“You have to try these bittersweet petals. They’re fantastic!”

“Bitter? They are raw!”

“Of course, that’s how you eat them.”

“Over my dead body, Devon! I am not a goat,” I said indignantly.

I conceded with the bulbs because they were cooked like artichokes. Almost choked when I learned his magnificent greens casserole was made with sunflower leaves instead of collards. “You tricked me!” Sunflower leaves, onions, garlic, and French herbs blended in a mouthwatering aroma, while tiny bits of bacon sprinkled over fried shallots soaked up in a to-die-for mushrooms cream sauce made from scratch. Darn! I furrowed, pouted, growled, and turned around, feigning anger to keep him from seeing me running my tongue across my lips. I couldn’t help it!

“Roasted sunflower seeds, cucumber slices, baby arugula greens, and a combination of nasturtiums, pansies, and chive blossoms drizzled with a honey-lemon vinaigrette… Yes, yes. A very well-rounded flavor profile indeed.” Devon spoke his thoughts out loud. Sometime later, orange, yellow, red, and purple petals swam in a verdant tapestry of edible leaves. The dh looked like a bowl of candy, instead of a salad. “I’m eatin’ soap, ugh!” I declared with a full mouth.

A couple of seniors entered the room, their oohs and aahs earned them a serving of this wild salad. To my dismay, they loved it and went for a second serving. I could see them shape shifting into fat rabbits in my mind. Devon allowed them to taste the sunflower seed-based-no-baked chocolate tart, crusted chicken, and even the homemade spreadable – and addictive – cream cheese. They licked their lips and looked at my handsome friend as if they were about to have him for a “digestif.”

“My tongue is yellow!” I said with my mouth full of crackers, trying to divert the women’s lustful glances from him, “Tell me it is not petals!”

“Turmeric,” Devon smiled, “a spice with a complex balance of earthy, peppery, and slightly bitter notes. I am working on a bloomy rind version; a kind of Brie I would like to bake into a dessert or an appetizer.”

“Umm.” I nodded and kept munching.

“I could use paprika instead!” Suddenly excited, “Ah, the soul of pepper, sun-kissed with sweetness,” he paused, looking at me, “and perfect with sunflower seeds!”

I growled, “You would love its warm, gooey, and decadent texture.” His eyes were full of wonder.

“You sound like a poet, Devon, not a chef,” I said a bit jealous, wishing, if he talked about me like that instead of seeds. What? Stop it! I shook my head in horror.

“Cooking is an art_ I do need to come up with real poetry though. I need beautiful names for my creations. Do you care to help?”

I laughed. “With Sunflowers involved, all ideas coming from my mouth might include words like doom, hell, ennui, and languor!” It was Devon’s time to laugh. After a long time in silence, he wrote in his notebook:

Amber Hearts, memories of gold linger.

Golden Sigh, the spice of dawn, warmth bestows.

Emerald Dream, golden halos in a verdant stream.

“You must be the reincarnation of an Imperial chef in the Tang Dynasty!” Despite all my whining and complaining, I secretly enjoyed his ability to turn a simple meal into an artistic experience, reflecting his refined tastes, and knowledge of food. This was only the beginning of a few very intense weeks to come, the result of which would be a magnificent meal. Of that, I was certain. Devon would step onto the kitchen’s stage in his pristine white double-breasted jacket, pants, toque and apron, an arsenal of utensils, and golden sunlit dreams. All disdain and prejudice would melt under his skill and passion. The humblest of seeds shall become an unforgettable divine indulgence, the ambrosia on the Gods’ table. I looked at the sunflowers bobbling over my head in agreement. They opened a path for me.

From a nap in lavender to an adventure in yellow and green, memories of creative pursuits, delicious flavors, and friendship took over and changed me. Sunflower soap might be on the list.

I went about frolicking like a fairy with big wings. If this was a dream, time travel or another dimension, it didn’t matter. I was running in an endless field of contentment and beauty now. A simple seed took me there…

I left a path of crumbs for you to follow. Shush — correction, sunflower seeds.