When I was young, I loved seeing what we called buttercups—a delicate pink primrose, springing up in the lawn.  My sister and I would protest when our dad would set out to cut the grass—including our beloved buttercups.  After much carrying on, even tears from his daughters, one day he came up with a creative solution.  He called to us to hurry and pick the flowers before he mowed.  Brilliant! Satisfied, we eagerly gathered them into our “vases,” which were really jars of water.

Now, many years later, my patient husband agreed to mow around my current wild “lawn flowers” leaving the silky yellow buttercups and sea of blue forget-me-nots intact.  I had to hand clip the grass surrounding them but that’s a small thing to continue to enjoy these treasures.