By Špela Krajnc
“When my father died, I had to drop school. I was 19, but I had no choice. It was now or never.” It is a cold November Monday and Astrid is standing outside between her flowers with red hands covered with scratches. What looks like blood, is the color of the autumn flower bouquet she is arranging. She does not feel the cold anymore. Her flower kiosk will stay open the whole winter, while she is waiting for the spring to arrive and bring her new flowers. The black and white photo of her father is hanging in the corner which makes her office. He passed away too early and left his flower kiosk to his 2 daughters. “I was in the middle of my tourism education, but my sister didn’t love the flowers like I did. My father always used to take me with him to the flower auction on the Saturday mornings”, she says while looking at his picture, “and I still love it”.