Possessing a more moderate climate than the heat and humidity of the equator that is Houston, Carolina is at it's budding best at this time of year. Like Mama Walton, I remember the excitement over the first crocus to poke through in late winter. The fields of naturalized daffodils like luscious lemon pie filling waving on green wands. The beautiful peonies and gigantic hydrangeas remind me of a quiet time near my grandparents home on a bluff overlooking the Cape Fear River.With these memories, I have tried, and failed, year after year, to recreate this charming pallette in Galveston Country gumbo clay.
Every few years, Tom Berenger and I make a pilgrimage back to North Carolina and Virginia, known as The Roots Tour. On these meccas we both try and grab a bit of "home" to return to Texas. Readers, you can easily understand why I had to say "NO" to his idea of native flora/fauna when the raggedy 10point buck head was suggested as home decor. There was no way I was taking that startled face with the creepy eyes(aforementioned trophy buck, not hubby) on a cross country road trip.I knew that deer would spring back to life at any moment and kill me on it's way out the Jeep. After all, it would hardly be the first deer to go through one of our vehicles.Or the last. I digress.
Instead, we trekked out into the woods with his ancient Granny B and dug up "bloodroot". The orignal naturalist, Granny instructed the nuances of her famous root remedy which yeilds an alcohol based tonic effective on insect bites or any skin irritations. . The best kept secret came when she instructed me to put a "finger of root" in some Moonshine (doesn't everyone have that in the pantry?) and use a teaspoon of these brandy in my morning coffee. According to The Granniness, this would improve my circulation and remove the poisons from my body. She has done it for 80 years. Now, I appreciate her insight, but just because I NEED a/c does not mean there is anything wrong with my circulation. Also, introduction of corn liquor and roots into my breakfast really isn't the way of kick starting my day she obviously thinks I need. As for purifying my system, she and her potion could be poster children for the poison control charts.
With Root Medicine in hand, we proceed to my family in Carolina. We pick up 100lbs of cabbage on the way from the Blue Ridge Mountains. My huge extended family much prefer fresh cabbage to bouquets of flowers when it comes to desirable hostess gifts. Early the next morning with my partner in crime, Cousin Tinnie,we set out with shovels and drywall buckets. We are on a search for flower bulbs from our family's old home places. We start at our greatgrandmother's yard. One bucket full of daffodil bulbs and we are back in the car. Next stop, our great aunt's yard where we get cutting of huge moptop hydrangeas in shades ranging from palest pink to indigo blue. Next, we go to my grandmother's land and dig spiderwort, the same flowers I picked as a child. Back at the Cousin Compound, I get the regal rhizomes that are my Great Aunt's White Flag Iris. Endless beds of diaphonous blooms cover her back yard. These are cut and placed in damp soil, wrapped in newspaper, and nestled into boxes for the 1400 mile trip back to Houston.
Finally back home, I quickly planted all my treasures. We distributed the magical root medicine to all potential ant bite victims. My hydrangea immediately dried up like pot pourri. Everything else, amazingly, adapted and thrived. For years. Until Fred, my yardman /event planner started clearing the flower beds last week. As I turned into the driveway, I immediately saw he had done a scorched earth cleansing and my family flowers, my beautiful White Flags, had vanished. That night I saw Tinnie posted on FB she had been busy dividing bulbs and moving hydrangeas. Not wanting to admit my flowers were gone, I casually mentioned how I would love to be gardening with her .
Today I opened my mailbox, pulling out a ton of junk mail, an invitation, and a package with dirt falling out. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and carefully opened my dirt box. Carefully wrapped, my late great aunt's White Flag Iris lay waiting for me. Tinnie had sent my roots to me, along with instructions.
Tomorrow morning, my Carolina roots will return to their bed and I will be glad that a bit of my heritage continues to grow here with me.
I remain,
The Fabulous Ma'am
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