My husband has been relocated for work to a small town in South Texas.
I have had a hard time figuring what to do with my time, so I decided to join the "Sinton,Tx Garden Club".
I contacted the club president Estelle, and after a long phone conversation of mostly me yelling into the phone, I was no longer Jessica but now called "Tiffany" and was to meet the ladies in one week for a trip to a nursery a few towns over. I was told to bring some lunch money because we would be stopping at a new restaurant.
The following week arrived and I found our meeting spot--the only Presbyterian Church in town. I arrived 30 minutes early because I was afraid I would get lost trying to find the church--it was literally 2 blocks over. Then the ladies arrived, first of course was Estelle, she was hunch backed with a smile as big as Texas itself--"You're so young!" she said as she began to shake my hand. Then came little Laura with her cane--"I brought Myrtle today instead of that four-pronged mess the doctor wants me to use." She held up the cane ,or Myrtle if you will. You have to appreciate when one names an inanimate object, which I always thought were only musicians naming their instruments, but now realize little old ladies do as well. We chatted about who wasn't coming for a few minutes while we waited on the rest of the group. So and so had fallen again, this person was having mini-strokes, that person's husband was having an operation called "the wire"....please let me die young. Next to arrive was Mildred--she scooched out of her suburban asking about ramps at the restaurant. No one had been there, so she opted to bring her 4 prong (nameless) cane. Another car pulled up driven by Francis with her husband Bob riding shot gun and the minister's wife Angie was in the back. The group was ready.
We pulled out loaded up in 2 cars and were told that we were taking the scenic route so we could see the wildflowers. Boy was it worth it! Nevermind the 3 times we had to turn around because we had taken the wrong exit or road--the wildflowers were out in all their shining glory. First it was patches of pink buttercups which the ladies informed me were actually primroses but that they premised calling it buttercups because it reminded them of childhood. 10-4. Then came the blankets of blue bonnets, the occasional wine cup, the black eyed susans, baby breath... and the indian paint brushes. We made it to nursery and I began to wonder if Estelle was legally allowed to drive. Nevermind the fact that her humpback only allowed her to see barely above the steering wheel--she weaved in and out of lanes like a drunk person. But we made it safe and sound, I helped Laura out of the car and the man at the nursery came to greet us. Apparently we were getting a tour. This made me happy.
We started out looking at the herbs, went on to look at the vegetables and then for the next 30 minutes we looked at roses. The poor man was really put to the test as each lady took turns asking questions about which rose was which, where the antique roses were and about ten million other questions. I absorbed all I could--roses frighten me. One day, when we don't move around every 6 months I will attempt to grow them but until then--they will remain a mystery to me. The ladies made their picks, I decided on a blue passion flower. Then it was off to the restaurant. Which did have a ramp.
We ordered, which was no small feat, ate, left, took turns complaining about the prices and took the short way home. The ladies dispersed and so did I chuckling to myself about the day. Mildred never stopped talking for one minute. We would be lost and trying to figure out which direction to go and Mildred never missed a beat--only when the car made a u-turn would she ask if we had taken a wrong turn. Laura sweet as molasses and small voiced would get quite annoyed at not being heard and would resort to sulking like a schoolgirl. They are resilient women having lost children, husbands, and friends along their journey, each has had a major surgery or cancer and yet they bumble along the farm roads of South Texas eewing and ahhing over the flowers. Will they ever realize that they are the true wildflowers?