I can’t get enough of saying My Texas Bluebonnets - which is the Texas state flower, by the way. I’ve said it over and over in my head, giggling, and I’m thinking about dragging out my dusty podcasting equipment just to be able to say it into a gigantic microphone as well, recording it for posterity. My Texas Bluebonnets. Texas Bluebonnets. So, Two Texas Bluebonnets walk into a bar… No doubt, it has a ring. I even like looking at the shape of the letters all lined up together, the tall and stately T and x mixed with the round bs and double nns… There is definitely something about those words, something kind of … suggestive, isn’t it? Something that might be a euphemism for something unutterable on a cute garden blog such as mine? I can’t put my finger on what it is exactly, and my entire family is reading so I wouldn’t even want to, but that does not deny its existence. Just try saying it yourself a few times. My Texas Bluebonnets. My Texas Bluebonnets.
Okay, I’ll stop.
Questionable as their name may sound, it’s the Texas Bluebonnets that have given me a bright spot of joy on this dreary Monday morning, because they have exploded these gorgeous, deep periwinkle flowers – overnight! - after nearly two weeks of rain. We woke up this morning to seven or eight sprouted purple towers with gobs of little blooms on each stem, waving faintly in the short March breeze like dainty Southern Belles.
Whether or not they are aware, the Bluebonnets have bloomed at exactly the right time. I have spent the weekend awash in anxiety, tiptoeing out to the veggie box every hour and staring at my soggy, sodden, almost frozen pale yellow seedlings, each time confirming my own deepest insecurities that this was a horrible idea, and starting a blog about it an even worse idea, and soon the little bugs with the big teeth will come and eat up all the leaves and the sun will stop shining and then after that there will just be a big box of dirt and the wasted, dried up old stems of what I wished to be a life-fulfilling dream, a promise of feeding my family from my own hands, but now will be left with a blog about watching a big box of dirt that may or may not be positioned in a spot to receive enough sun to sustain vegetation but that doesn’t matter now, because the plants are dead, and I’m beginning to not feel so good myself.
If only it would have been possible for me to become something more solid, like a nurse, or a doctor, or a lawyer. Or even a marketing manager, or a clerk of some kind, anything but a writer, anything but an actor. If you had any clue as to my other, more practical skills (which are very thin and whispy, indeed), you would understand that this would be an impossibility. I have no other skills but these. And that, if you must know, in moments of anxiety like the ones mentioned above, comes as a shock to the system that must feel something close to a heart attack, although to my knowledge I’ve never had one. My throat completely closes when I think of the fact that I have no other skills, these are the only ones I’ve got, and I’ve GOT to make this garden work, how will I have a great gardening blog if I’m a terrible gardener? I have to say, if I were reading right now, I’m not so sure I’d trust myself. I mean, look: I’ve been taking photos of a big brown tarp for days, and seedlings so weak and so lifeless that if I saw them and thought to myself, well, this is gardening?, it doesn’t look that interesting and not that much fun, then I’d have to maybe take up sewing instead.
Do you see what I mean about the Bluebonnets? My Lord, they could not have bloomed at a better time.
If you are tired of reading about me, and would much rather read more about Bluebonnets, the Texas state flower, Lady Bird Johnson's favorite and planted on state highways by the thousands, please go here or here or here. You will get your Bluebonnet fix (they are really beautiful, especially when seen in multitude), and I will feel less like a self-pitying schmo.