Every March, as the last sticky snowstorms of winter change over into the first blustery rain showers of spring, something wonderful happens here in Boston—something known as the Flower Show.
For more than a century now, Bostonians have converged on this annual extravaganza by the tens of thousands to preview the lush sweet peas and azaleas and roses of summer some ten or twelve weeks before these flowers actually arrive in outdoor gardens. Children, men, women, babies in strollers, all love the show. It's like an early celebration of spring—a lighthearted mutiny against the last rigors of winter.
And it's funny—when you button up your coat to leave the fragrance-filled exposition center where the Flower Show is held, you somehow don't take the frozen temperatures of winter quite so seriously anymore. Instead, you carry the vision of spring—its tranquillity and beauty and promise—in your heart. And you know that summer must inevitably come.
