Lizabeth's remembers her childhood as the brown crumbly dust of the late arid summer and the brilliant splash of yellow against the dust of Miss Lottie's marigolds. Whenever she sees the marigolds, she feels the chaotic emotions of adolescence.
One of her worst memories was the day Lizabeth tore and ripped apart. She leaped furiously into the mounds of marigolds and pulled madly, trampling the perfect yellow blooms and her friends thought she was crazy for what she was doing.
The worlds have taken her away from the time and place where she destroyed Miss Lottie's marigolds who died a long time ago. One does not have to be ignorant and poor to find that one's life is barren as the dusty ofone's town. Lizabeth has also planted marigolds.