Of Wildflowers — The Respectable, The Tiny, The Insignificant

How looking through a lens changed my view of things

“Sunlight bent around the world lending fragile color to wildflowers.” — David Mitchell

My friend Jess (not her real name) and I were out walking in our neighborhood when we came across this patch of Yellow Wood Sorrel.

I switched on my phone and took a photo. “The best thing about Spring,” I said, “is the wildflowers.”

Jess sniffed. “Those aren’t wildflowers, they’re weeds.”

“Excuse me,” I said. “The yellow thingies are flowers, and they’re wild — ”

“Yeah, but they’re tiny and insignificant. Now, these are a respectable size.” Jess paused by a bevy of Evening Primroses that flounced and flirted with the breeze.

“Very Scarlett,” I commented.

Jess looked at me strangely. “They’re pink.”

Like wildflowers you must allow yourself to grow in all the places people thought you never would. — E.V.

We walked on, then stopped at a small cobblestoned lookout near the lake. There, growing between the stones, I found Purslane.

It didn’t look like much right then. But it wouldn’t take long for these enterprising little plants to put out vividly colored blooms.

Here’s how purslane brightened up my porch last year:

We halted yet again so I could take pictures of the turtles sunbathing on rocks at the water’s edge. White Clover grew plentifully in the grass that sloped down to the lake.

We climbed back onto the path, which now ran alongside homes that faced the lake. At the very first backyard, we got the expected welcome —

An eruption of barking.

A chocolate-colored Doberman raced along the fence that separated us from him, barking madly. Trotting by his side, a floppy-eared spaniel raised a high-pitched ruckus.

I waved to the dogs. “Don’t you know us by now?”

A young squirrel stuck its head around the trunk of a live oak to get an eyeful of the drama.

I stepped closer to take a photo but the squirrel fled up the tree and peeked at us through baby green leaves.

A couple of feet from the oak, the grass was sprinkled with the miniature white stars of Prairie Dogshade.

And of course, what’s grass without Dandelions? Or even Carolina False Dandelions (a.k.a. Carolina Desert Chicory).

False Dandelion greens can be eaten raw or cooked. Native Indians also ate the root and used it for medicinal purposes.

But all I could think right then was: I have to weed out the dandelions in my herb patch.

Note the dandelion leaves in the foreground moving in on my thyme.

I have to wear gloves when pulling out these faux dandelions. They are well-equipped to protect themselves. Thin, hard-to-get-out thorns march along the leaves and stems. And if I rub my arms or face immediately after touching the plant, I begin to itch.

I was walking up to the front door when my eyes fell on a gorgeous little bloom — a Pink Sorrel. I took eight photos before selecting the one below.

Final thoughts…

“Embrace the beauty of life at the margins. That’s where the bravest flowers grow, wild and free.” — Clare Walker

My newfound interest in photography has upended my ideas of what I previously deemed aesthetic or noteworthy.

Looking through a lens brings even the most diminutive subject into focus — both literally and figuratively. The zoom magnifies and lends stature. The portrait feature makes the subject pop by blurring out distractions.

Thus, within the frame of the shot, every subject — respectable, tiny, or insignificant — shines as the uncontested star of the photo.

Thanks for reading!🌻

Thank you, Dennett for publishing my story in your wonderful pub.

Here’s a John O'Neill poem that gave me a Spring in my step.

And Trista Signe Ainsworth’s Waste-not-want-not philosophy as it applies to her kitchen.

And some of my own stuff: