The youngest picked a packet at the shop last we went. A mix of wild promises of blossom and burst.
This variety has sprouted in a few spots we sprinkled. Each pair of leaves with a match pair of nibbles. Such consistency that I first thought it a pattern of growth… but it’s instead a habitual snacker.
It’ll be a lovely wait and good surprise to see what these grow into, if they make it to maturity.
I am feeling more untethered, two weeks into this sabbatical, than I quite know what to do with.
I don’t recall wild carrot ever being such a sea – in this spot or any other. How the climate change and other human intervention changes so many things.
There was a beautiful field of Indian Paintbrush nearby each spring. Year after year until three years ago. The farmer didn’t mow at some choice winter moment to allow enough light to permeate the heavy grasses laden over the soil. No flowers. And again the next year. And again.
This year, the farmer didn’t mow that same field, but did mow the one across the way and lo and behold – Indian Paintbrush!
Alas, we didn’t put two and two together in time to continue the “children in wildflowers” tradition this spring with that field. There is still time to add it up on some Blanketflower or Coreopsis though…
Let them call you a weed. You are none such as that. They may not see your beauty, your strength, your ingenuity. I do, little purple flower. I see it. I see you. Bloom your heart out how and where you bloom best. Never you mind that gardener.
Waiting for a bus to come, or a train to go, or the snow to snow, or waiting around for a yes or a no…
Everyone is just waiting…
But that’s not for you! You’ll go on to where boom bands are playing.
I traveled to Houston this week on business and the wild flowers called to me. They wanted to speak to y’all. They wanted to share their view of the world with each of you. I hadn’t packed my camera, nor did I schedule a spare moment to pull over to the side of the road. Boy, doesn’t that say something.
I didn’t schedule a single moment to spare.
As a result, I have blurry pictures taken through a dirty car window speeding by on a windy day. So…low resolution splotches and splashes of color. So instead, I will merely share their names with you, and within such names a link to images from others. Other people who thought to pack cameras. Other people who allowed buffer in their day. Who took the time to take pause. I hope I’ve learned my lesson. I fear I will be relearning it time and time again, the hard way, in the weeks and years to come. I won’t say that I didn’t try though. I have and I will continue to try.
Bluebonnets, that for nearly a decade I would accidentally call blue bells, carpet the roadsides. Other roadsides prefer a warmer shade of blossom in the form of Indian Paintbrush. Not to be confused with Downy Paintbrush. Then there are the Winecups and the Moss Verbena adding some purple to the scene. We can’t neglect the yellow of the Engelmann’s Daisy, the Texas Star, or the countless other yellows soon to pop. Or the white of the blackfoot daisy or the wrinkly poppy that are coming soon. The summers here may turn brown and dry and drab, but the springs contend with the best of the springs out there.
I did have my camera this morning though and there are things up and about on home turf. Stretching their arms to the sky in a morning yawn. Wriggling their toes deeper into the soil with the help of the sprinkler. Working on their tan in the sunbeams or flexing their muscles in the wind, the growth has started to outpace the pill bug population…or so I hope.
Thankfully, the baby monitor that I left to fend for itself in the flood waters from the sky has miraculously recovered so I am once again free to roam about once or twice a day on weekends. Or as I say, “I’m going to go play outside now.”