Chasing Windmills (a.k.a. Bluebonnets)

I currently live in Houston. The Misses and I moved the family here in May of 2006. We like it here. But we’re not native Houstonians, for that matter we’re not native Texans. Close, but not quite; she’s from Oklahoma and I’m from Louisiana. Texas shares a regional culture with our home states, but if you remember the Texas tourism slogan, “Texas, it’s like a whole ‘nother country.” So The Misses and I are learning what it means to be “Texan”. Aside from the obvious things like chewing tobacco, wearing hats measured by liquid tonnage, and buying a six-shooter or two there are some subtle rites-of-passage that make you an official Texan. One of these rites is a pilgrimage to the Bluebonnets.

Since the first spring of our arrival in the Lone Star State we’ve heard about these bluebonnets. “It’s bluebonnet season,” “The ‘bonnets are in full bloom,” “Have you seen the bluebonnets?” and so on. There are news stories about the bluebonnets, there are websites devoted to the bluebonnets and whole regions of the state that devote their economy to catering to horticultural pilgrims. Texas takes this flower seriously. So seriously they made the bluebonnet the state flower. But that wasn’t enough, so they teach kids in school that it is illegal to pick bluebonnets in Texas. (It’s not illegal, but they propagate the myth via school taught urban legend in order to instill reverence for the bluebonnet at a young age, or maybe further the Cult of the Azul Head Covering or something nefarious like that)

This is the background for an adventure I launched the family on a few weeks ago. It was only a matter of time before I had to find out what the big deal was about. I mean it’s a flower. A wild flower. Growing on the side of the interstate. Sure that’s nice and everything, but really is that all there is to it? Can’t be. If I stop cutting my grass a few weeks I get some pretty pink flowers that pop up, but no one drives slowly past my yard with camera in hand. No, I get a nasty-gram from the HOA complaining about growing shrubbery without a permit or something. So one Saturday night after watching the 15^th report about pretty weeds in a field outside of Houston, I decide the time is right to see this for myself.

Sunday afternoon I load The Misses and three kidd-o’s into the car and sally forth to see Lupinus texensis. The Misses was not amused, because I didn’t have much of a plan. (The Misses NEEDS a plan, clearly written, all possibilities and solutions accounted for, an emergency contact number, a notarized signature, and an updated will) I didn’t have any of that. All I had was a full tank of gas, a digital camera, a sunny day, a carload of uncooperative family, and a compass point [West]. The latest news report made it sound like all of the land west of Houston was awash in what John Lennin would have described as Bluebonnet fields forever. So I told The Misses we would simply get on I-290 and head west toward Austin, we would find a massive patch of flowers on the side of the road, plop the kids in the middle, take a few shots and be home for dinner. Simple as pie.

Forty minutes later things we’re not coming up roses (or bluebonnets), and the natives were getting restless. We found nothing but brown grass and weeds. Here I was, driving 45mph on the highway staring at the side of the road. “Look there is that a flower? Nope that was a blue dixie cup.” “What about that? Nope that was an abandoned tarp with a human leg hanging out of the side.” I never paid that much attention to neutral ground in the absence of a Mardi Gras parade in my life. Eventually The Misses found something. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a whole field of blue off of the feeder road on the right. I cut three lanes of traffic, cause an 18-wheeler to jackknife, and tip over an old lady in a walker and exit the highway. It took about 15 minutes to backtrack to the spot. We pull over and survey the landscape of blue. Blue yes, but not exactly what we expected. Despite a month without any rain it was wetter than we expected. What The Misses saw out of the corner of her eye was actually a very large pond reflecting a pretty, cloudless, blue sky. We had found the Blue, but not the Bonnet part of the equation. Everyone, back in the car!

Twenty minutes later we had a success in patches of flowers on the side of the road. Not the fabled bluebonnets, but at this point we were going to take some pictures of something floral even if we had to find a florist shop to do it. We pressed on. Soon small patches became larger patches, and a few blue patches could be seen. Eventually these patches of flowers turned to patches of bluebonnets. Little groups here and there, pretty, but not enough to fill a picture. As the patches get bigger crowds start to gather. At each group of bluebonnets there are a half dozen cars pulled over on the shoulder of the highway. Adults kneeling around smartly dressed children angrily shouting, “Look happy, damn-it!” We must be here.

The Misses and I spy a large vacant patch of bluebonnets, conveniently located in the grassy section of a highway cloverleaf. Perfect place for children to frolic, let’s go! We pull over and kick the children out of the car as trucks and cars wiz past like a blurry, metal version of a dark robed skeleton carrying a scythe. “Go play” we tell them. And out they ran, cooped up for an hour and a half in the car was motivation enough for them to have played in a broccoli (aka children kryptonite) factory. We managed a few pictures before reality set in. “Is that poison-ivy?”, “Are those bees gonna sting me”, “I itch”, “Wow, how many ant piles are out here?” With uncut grass up their waist, dangerous flora and fauna buzzing, crawling, and creeping all around, and the wind blown wake of high speed death tussling their hair, being cooped up in the car seemed like a good idea. “I wanna go home,” they cried. “No you’ll sit in the grass and enjoy yourself.” We took as many pictures as they would let us. I lasted a little more than 10 minutes then we retreated to the car.

We have seen the elephant, and it was a good day. But it was a late day, and dinner was nearing. We had an hour plus drive back to Houston, so The Misses and I decided to give the good people of Bluebonnet Mecca some of our hard earned cash. We would get something to eat in the town just up the road. So we journeyed father west into The Heart of Blueness. Soon we became aware of our rookie mistake – pre-mature bluebonnet elation. The world around us slowly faded into a deep blue hue. What we had previously believed to be a field of bluebonnets was a nothing more that a scattering of wild flowers compared to what we saw here. It was like mistaking a swollen drainage ditch for the Pacific Ocean. Here we found seas of blue fields that would have had made Captain Nemo homesick. It was truly amazing. Stones had been removed from my eyes and I now understood what the bluebonnets are all about. These fields make me want to threaten bluebonnet pickers under penalty of law, check the message boards for blooming reports, tune in to watch the umpteen news reports of wildflowers, heck, I might even put a tin pot on my head and jaunt around the land in bare feet, throwing bluebonnet seeds to the wind. I do like blue flowers and ham, I do like them, Sam-I-Am. These flowers were nothing short of amazing. It was as if the Hand of God ran out of yellow paint to mix with blue for a landscape, but He decided to finish the painting with what He and available. A truly moving sight.

After a few miles The Misses and I turned off of the main highway. We randomly picked a side road and went to see what we could see. Luck was with us and we happened upon a huge open field of flowers that we had all to ourselves. Unfortunately there was no way to convince Number One and Number Two Sons to get out of the car again. They had been tricked before and wouldn’t budge. But the Little Princess was too young to refuse. With daylight fleeting The Misses, the Little Princess, and I frolicked in our own personal Blue Heaven. It was a great day, and I look forward to going back next year.