Can you believe it’s March already? Living here in south Texas, I’m probably not as antsy for spring as some of our precious vintage-loving friends here. Here, we have pretty much two seasons, warm or hot, and especially this year we really didn’t have much of a winter, which was fine by me.
So, knowing springtime is just going to lead us towards the hot Texas summer, I shouldn’t be excited for it as much as I am. But, I am. After moving to Texas, I had depression for a handful of years and I used to dream of being just about anywhere else. I didn’t fit in here, just didn’t belong, and I’d dream of the mountains and clean air of Colorado, or Utah, the greenery and hills of beautiful Tennessee where we’d come from, the friendly people and farmlands of Iowa where I was born, and as always the saguaro cactus, palm trees, and desert beauty of Arizona where I’d lived and loved for so many years.
I’d dream of packing up one day and heading out to any of these, or anywhere really. Have you ever been somewhere where you knew you just didn’t belong? This post has to be for you then, because it started out as a junk gardening post, which I’ll get to. But, anyway, I tried to love where I was at, and the people, and it just wasn’t working, I could not find my tribe, I lost my vibe and my voice, and my spark. So, I’d dream, and pray, and cry and put on a brave face and I’d do everything I could to find small joys where I was at. Bloom where you’re planted was what I’d always heard, and I was sowing effort, and tears, and nothing was growing, My vagabond heart just wanted out of this place.
And then I noticed them.
There in that place where I didn’t belong, they’d pop up each year without anyone planting them, with their glorious pink, yellow, blue little faces of joy. They’d bloom in the craziest of places, we’d mow and they’d regroup and pop up again to bloom while it was their precious season to shine.
The Texas wildflowers.
For a few precious months they come out to play in the warming Texas sun, set to dancing in the hot Texas wind, and carpeting landscapes in the highways and byways, calling to passerby’s to slow down their frenzied pace and just enjoy their simple beauty and charm even if only for a little while.
And so charming were they with their dancing and their persistent ways that I couldn’t help myself but become beguiled. And I’d look forward to them each year, and even be glad for a bit that I hadn’t chucked it all and ran away. And I’d laid down that heavy depression for a while, because I was tired of carrying it, it was burdensome and this was spring, just like the springs I knew running barefoot as a child and picking dandelions and playing outdoors until the very last moment of sunlight and I had to go inside.
I’d always been a fall-loving girl, hadn’t I? I’d said with certainty for years that my favorite season was autumn with its leaves falling & crisp mornings and back-to-school time air about it. How had I never noticed that, although I’ll always have a fondness for those things of fall, deep down I was a spring-loving girl?
Plants, birds, grass, flowers, those I knew were my passions, even as a child. I can remember the smell of lilacs from the huge bushes of them that spilled over the fence of our school yard and I would spend a part of every recess I could, when I wasn’t running around, nearby.
And the stunted young trees in our front yard that I’d coax into growing by talking to them, encouraging them to grow and piling my concoction of “fertilizer” that I’d made from leaves, water, mud and things I’d found in the yard around them. They’re big trees now, standing just as tall and proud like the others on that block, and people drive by them each day not knowing a little girl had loved them and would whisper “grow” and water them and they eventually grew.
A spring-loving girl who loved birds, and butterflies, and playing outside with the neighborhood kids, riding my bike and picking sour apples off a tree at the end our block till the old man would chase us out of his yard. How could I forget this girl..