Yesterday was my wife’s mother’s 83rd birthday. Congratulations, Me Maw.
After a luncheon party at the hall in the central Texas town, we took the old road to the country cemetery to visit the resting place of a few more relatives.
This road passes along a railroad right-of-way that’s no longer in use. The new tracks are about a mile off, on the other side of the interstate. The unused track way remains, with the rusting rails. This is where the trains rolled across the prairies from the far mountains to the Gulf of Mexico and the ports of the Old South, and then back again.
Around the road, the engines and cars dropped seeds, to join the seeds of the Texas prairies.
The road is amazing.
Between the green-planted fields and barbed-wire fences, the short stretch of protected gravel blooms with wildflowers that have inhabited the glade for decades. These are not the farm-raised and crew-planted wildflowers sculpted to the slopes of the newly designed interstates. The new interstate flowers are beautiful and I would not detract from their beauty, but the flowers of the little road are another creation. These are the native flowers of the land’s far past, mixed with the new breed of tramps that shifted aboard the box cars and were tossed by the barreling trains.
In their way, they are the true blooms of Texas.
Petal, color and form change and are more diverse than their interstate cousins.
And, they are the more surprising.
Yesterday, I saw the tall red spikes and asked as we bumped along, “What are those?”
We slowed.
“I haven’t seen those since . . . 2005.” My wife stopped the car and rolled down her window. “Mom and I were driving to the cemetery. They don’t bloom often.”
I opened the door, stepped out and took some pictures.
“What are they called?” I asked as we drove on.
“Don’t know.”
“We’ll check the wildflower book when we get home.”
Standing Cypress is the entry name. Other common names include Flame Flower, Indian Plume and Texas Star. From the names, the bloom has been around for a while – although seldom seen. They may have traveled far to be here, or stayed long hidden from our view.
Little surprises around the bend and down the lane,
Memories of far-flung remembered blooms,
Indian Plume, the Texas Star,
Grandpa Jim.