Search for the Wild Bluebonnet
It is springtime in hill country Texas, and in the hill country this time of year, the native, state-flower-labeled, bluebonnets fill up roadsides and fields, cozy up to fences and boulders, and emit their musty, dusty pheromone-fragrance into the spring air.
VERY different than, say, the citrus-y sage scents of coastal California, or the floral sweet aroma of the purple phacella fields of Carrizo Plain National Monument in California...
VERY different than, say, the citrus-y sage scents of coastal California, or the floral sweet aroma of the purple phacella fields of Carrizo Plain National Monument in California...
The bluebonnets, possibly just a more ‘poetic’ version of the common New England lupine genus, have been the seed of many a bluer-than-blue country song lyric. They are special here, and the state upholds its annual budget for seed scattering for the sensorial spring saturation.
And so, I have recently been in search of the wild bluebonnet viewing while taking seriously the warning of the spring sunning of rattlesnakes amongst the blooms.
These spicy blue plumes are tribe-secure, not wandering off too far from their petal patch. Maybe an adventurous clump will cleave from their meadow clique, inching their way to the open range. VERY different, say, than the other timely bud: the salmon-colored Indian paintbrush, not afraid at all to stand alone in a plot of homogenous blue. There is no blending in for the paintbrush wanting to add a glaring detail to the canvas. Perhaps it is a wisp of narcissism on the part of the paintbrush—a snickering that the viewer’s eye will be awash in a blue blush, and have no choice but to come to rest on the reddish-coral of the lone Brush glamor exhibition, bold and brazen.
Talk about manipulation! You don’t see that kind of insolence from the other buds peeking up into the spring sun: wine cups, spiderwort, pink ladies primrose, and the white prickly poppy…all lacking pretension.
Maybe the paintbrush wants to experience what the bluebonnet knows so well: the incognito of blending into the blossom-y burst carpeting the field. Teamwork for the nose-bouquet.
In the open groves in the woods of New Hampshire’s White Mountains, along the trail during a multi-day backpacking trek in the spring years ago now, I dropped my pack and lay my body down on the trail dirt. Every spring, there is the bold blooming of the lone crimson trillium dotted throughout the forest. More uncommon is the white frilly-petaled painted trillium, a pink jagged line framing its center. Delicate, and like the bluebonnet, content to hold up its place in the spreading bud tract.
On both sides of the path lay the white trillium carpets, each bloom’s frilly head leaning towards the heat of the sun. I turned my head to the sun as well, feeling my hair frill and soften around my face. I don’t remember how long I meditated on the sun with the trillium—perhaps minutes, or maybe an hour. No other hikers approached, and time stopped for our, the flowers and I, co-mingling. Maybe this is what some of Texas’ Indian paintbrushes want to experience, innocent and curious, and would be insulted by my suggestion of exhibitionism. I will never know, but I am drawn to spring super-blooms wherever they be.
Not My First Rodeo
In September of 2014, on a Greyhound bus between Augusta and Atlanta, Georgia during my first year-long journey across the United States, Albert leaned in my direction across the distance between the two adjoining seats. Street lights sliced shadows through the bus window and illuminated Albert’s dark skin. We had started our conversation at the Augusta bus terminal before continuing as the bus motored the distance between the two cities. He was on route to visit children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, having married his first wife when he was fifteen years old. He told me had many occupations over those years, but the one most dear to him was working in rodeos.
As we closed in on the Atlanta terminal, he whispered to me, “When I saw you sitting in the terminal, I knew we’ve met before, maybe a thousand years ago. I know we will cross paths again someday….because this is not your first rodeo.” My skin tingled and wondered how many “rodeos” he has lived, too.
My very first rodeo experience on this physical plane was in Aspen, Colorado in July of 1990. I had received a merit scholarship in furniture design from Anderson Ranch Arts Center in Snowmass, just outside of Aspen. I was new to woodworking, and applied for one of the two scholarship categories with a design of a music cabinet I had made for myself—to hold sheet music and reed-making supplies for my oboe playing needs. When the acceptance letter arrived in the mail, I called them to see if some mistake had been made? Had there been few applicants? But no, promising talent is part of what they look for, especially in a non-traditional applicant. The workshop was amazing, and I felt validated in my creative directions. During those two weeks, friendships were invited and developed, and one Wednesday evening, all the guys donned their finest and headed off to the Aspen Music Festival concert on schedule for that evening.
A chip-carving workshop participant (a woman from Nantucket, Massachusetts) there that summer, and I, found our way to the weekly Wednesday night rodeo, her to check out the cowgirls, and me, the cowboys!
Counting the eight seconds where bareback riders buck with their horse, one hand holding tight to the rigging rein, viewers hold their breath to see if the rider can avoid touching the horse, his equipment, or himself with his free hand. If he does, he is disqualified. Judging covers control, spurring technique, and the horse’s performance. I remember wondering how much whiplash occurs for these young men pushing their limits. My chip-carving pal waited patiently through the men’s events to finally watch the cowgirls barrel race around the arena.
A chip-carving workshop participant (a woman from Nantucket, Massachusetts) there that summer, and I, found our way to the weekly Wednesday night rodeo, her to check out the cowgirls, and me, the cowboys!
Counting the eight seconds where bareback riders buck with their horse, one hand holding tight to the rigging rein, viewers hold their breath to see if the rider can avoid touching the horse, his equipment, or himself with his free hand. If he does, he is disqualified. Judging covers control, spurring technique, and the horse’s performance. I remember wondering how much whiplash occurs for these young men pushing their limits. My chip-carving pal waited patiently through the men’s events to finally watch the cowgirls barrel race around the arena.
My second rodeo was in Laramee, Wyoming in July of 2018 during my second year-long driving trek around the country. I was en route to the Wind River Range to backpack the route to Titcomb Basin with a hiking pal from California, then a solo pack along the Cirque of the Towers loop, and chanced upon Laramee’s Jubilee Days celebration driving through that part of the state. | The Pro Rodeo was at the Albany County Fairgrounds during the fest, and I forked over the fifteen dollars to let the disturbed dirt dust drift over me in the bleachers. I rooted for the feisty calves in the tie-down roping, where the contestant twirls his lasso at the calf, hoping to rope the calf, then dismounts to tie any three of the calf’s legs. | But the calf gets a head start, and there is a penalty if the cowboy breaks the barrier tape too soon. There needs to be a fair chase. Only half of the attempts are usually successful, and I could almost see those snarky calves snicker at defeating the cowboy’s efforts. |
Rodeo Austin:
Impressionistic Photos of Rodeo Austin events slideshow: Austin’s Pro Rodeo is my third rodeo, fitting while here in Texas. We went early to visit the petting barn, cheer on racing pigs in the Swifty Swine Pig races, peruse the agricultural barns, and walk through the carnival. Our ticket provided us with the indoor rodeo followed by an hour concert with well-known country music artist Tracy Byrd. In the large indoor arena, a circle of large screens project brand commercials for sponsoring beer companies and local businesses, other upcoming events in the Pro Rodeo circuit, and the band line up over the next week. Women decked out in fringe, tight jeans, and glittering boots offset my own used jeans and worn walking shoes. Kelly dons his ball cap, the hat fashion choice of South Austin. No cowboy hat for him. But the stands are full of brims as spectators munch on nachos and brisket pre-show. Once the beginning ceremonies begin, the rodeo queen rides out into the arena atop her roan horse, an American flag flapping alongside her arena rotations leading up to the singing of the National Anthem. Let the rodeo begin. Rodeo “clowns” position themselves in proximity of the gate soon to open with rider atop an agitated bull. Modern safety suggests the rider wear a helmet with face grate, and a neck brace for whiplash. Riding against the clock, like the horse bucking, eight seconds can feel like forever. Judges watch for body position, spurring, and use of the free area. Half the score is based on the animal’s efforts—these animals are trained to perform. Because of the severity of possible injury from the bull’s bulk or his sharp, skewing horns, the clowns’ job is to distract the animal if the rider is bucked prematurely from the bucking bull’s back. | The clowns and their horses corral the bull away from the vulnerable rider laying on the ground, then scurrying for safety back to the gates. No rodeo would be complete without the Mutton Bustin’ category. Kids in helmets get their eight seconds of fame, just like the adults, as they struggle to stay steady on the back of a sheep shooting its way out of the gate. Most fall off within a couple of seconds, applauded for their valiant attempts. A couple of kids make it as much as five seconds…bringing in the titles for this year’s rodeo. So, Albert was right….none of this is my “first rodeo”…. |
Dance Hall Checklist
I am a checklist person….checking a box when I can. I do it with hiking lists, National Parks, bucket-list experiences. And iconic Honytonk dance halls in Texas.
In 2019, driving east through Texas from points west, I gathered my list of halls to stop by en route to Austin, where I had been before, dancing and making friends.
I would arrive at the hall, pay my cover, and find a seat near the dance floor. As the band sound-checked their mics, the pattern would dig in its heels. Older women, covered in sweet smiles would saunter in my direction, and offer words of welcome.
“I haven’t seen you here before, honey. Are you with the band?”
How lovely to have them offer a word or two of welcoming. But, really, they had to know—who the hell was this single woman, having all that audacity to show up at THEIR dace hall, alone. Where the hell is her husband!
I am a checklist person….checking a box when I can. I do it with hiking lists, National Parks, bucket-list experiences. And iconic Honytonk dance halls in Texas.
In 2019, driving east through Texas from points west, I gathered my list of halls to stop by en route to Austin, where I had been before, dancing and making friends.
I would arrive at the hall, pay my cover, and find a seat near the dance floor. As the band sound-checked their mics, the pattern would dig in its heels. Older women, covered in sweet smiles would saunter in my direction, and offer words of welcome.
“I haven’t seen you here before, honey. Are you with the band?”
How lovely to have them offer a word or two of welcoming. But, really, they had to know—who the hell was this single woman, having all that audacity to show up at THEIR dace hall, alone. Where the hell is her husband!
Naively, I would tell them I was traveling through, loved to dance, and wanted to check out the historic dance hall. Oh, dear. Perhaps it was the southern breeding of begin able to strike another woman down with their smiles. Never breaking the grin, their eyes said it all, “Over my dead body are you dancing with my man!”
Luckily for me, at times, some male outsider would show up, and together we would find our way around the old wooden floorboards. House of Fifi Dubois in San Angelo, Luckenbach near Fredericksburg….
Austin is easy…a larger, more forgiving environment with many single dancers to dance with. I have those boxes checked without any female venom pushing me off the dance floors: the Broken Spoke, Giddy Ups, Little Longhorn, Highball, Continental Club, Sam’s Town Point, et al.
But outside the city, the terms are different, and in the past, Austin dance pals would team up and carpool to historic halls like Gruene Hall in Gruene, Mercer Dance Hall in Dripping Springs, and others.
Now that I have my own personal dance partner, I return to the box-checking: Cotton Country Club in Grainger, Albert Dancehall and Icehouse, Twin Sisters Dance Hall in Blanco…and as I prepare to leave Texas to meander my way back to New England, my boxes get fewer, and next time here, other Honkytonk halls will seduce me onto their floors: Kendalia Halle, Coupland Dance Hall, Anhalt Hall...
Slideshow:
Luckily for me, at times, some male outsider would show up, and together we would find our way around the old wooden floorboards. House of Fifi Dubois in San Angelo, Luckenbach near Fredericksburg….
Austin is easy…a larger, more forgiving environment with many single dancers to dance with. I have those boxes checked without any female venom pushing me off the dance floors: the Broken Spoke, Giddy Ups, Little Longhorn, Highball, Continental Club, Sam’s Town Point, et al.
But outside the city, the terms are different, and in the past, Austin dance pals would team up and carpool to historic halls like Gruene Hall in Gruene, Mercer Dance Hall in Dripping Springs, and others.
Now that I have my own personal dance partner, I return to the box-checking: Cotton Country Club in Grainger, Albert Dancehall and Icehouse, Twin Sisters Dance Hall in Blanco…and as I prepare to leave Texas to meander my way back to New England, my boxes get fewer, and next time here, other Honkytonk halls will seduce me onto their floors: Kendalia Halle, Coupland Dance Hall, Anhalt Hall...
Slideshow: