By: Marsha Lonchena, Master Photographer
Every spring, just as the earth begins to soften and the days stretch a little longer, something quietly happens on our property.
A field I once knew as simply green awakens with thousands of tiny pink blossoms, turning the meadow into a soft, romantic sea of color. They arrive gently. Almost shyly. And they bloom right around Mother’s Day.
The first year they appeared was the spring after my mother passed away.
I am well aware that flowers bloom and seeds travel and nature follows its own rhythms — but this field has always felt like more than coincidence to me. It felt like a gift. A reminder. A gentle hello.
For years, I simply welcomed the flowers when they appeared, without ever knowing their name. I knew the timing of their arrival, the way they softened the field, and how they vanished just as gently — as if they were never meant to stay long.
It wasn’t until last summer that their secret was revealed. These delicate pink blooms are called Ragged Robin, a wildflower most often found in the English countryside and rarely seen growing naturally in the US or Pennsylvania — which made their presence here feel all the more magical.
Their petals look as though they’ve been carefully snipped by hand, no two exactly alike. Together, they create a meadow that feels lifted from another place and time, untouched by hurry or modern life.
And yet, they are loyal. They do not wander to nearby fields. Each May, they return only here, bloom briefly, and then slip quietly back into the earth until the following spring.
Ragged Robin blooms for only a short window each year.
It cannot be scheduled far in advance or held longer than nature allows. The field decides when it is ready, and when it is gone.
That fleeting quality is part of its magic.
Children step into the meadow as it exists in that moment. Pink petals brush against their legs as they wander. Laughter drifts across the field. Small hands gather flowers. Time slows, if only briefly.
These are not posed portraits.
They are moments — held just long enough to be remembered.
There is something profoundly meaningful about photographing children surrounded by something so temporary.
The flowers will not last.
And neither will childhood.
I don’t pretend to know why this field chose that particular spring to bloom for the first time. But I do know how it made me feel — and still makes me feel — every year when I see the color return, I take a moment to say Thank you, Mom.
I like to believe that love leaves traces.
And every May, when this meadow blooms again, it feels like a quiet reminder that some things never truly leave us.
Portrait sessions in this field are offered only during its natural bloom, typically in early to mid-May, at my private property near Mars and Cranberry Township, Pennsylvania.
These fine art sessions are especially suited for:
Availability is limited and guided entirely by nature.
If this field speaks to you the way it speaks to me, I would be honored to help you schedule one of the limited wildflower sessions.
Because some seasons are meant to be remembered — year after year.