Claytonia virginica

Flowers, Fords, and Flights, Part I: The Flowers

If humans who like hot food are chili-heads and those who like cars are gear-heads, then the human male, the female, and their friend are AIR-HEADS.  Ehehehehe.   It’s funny because it’s true.

They’ve heard through the grapevine that there is a unique aircraft due to be at the local private airstrip today and tomorrow.  They want to drop everything and go ogle.  I want to go and laugh.  Midgardian technology is sooooo primitive and backward.

Sigyn wants to go because the sun is out and it’s spring and there might be flowers around the airstrip.

So here we are.  There is an assortment of small planes, but I gather that none of these is what we came to see.

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Can you see better from up there, Sigyn?

I suppose we can look around for your flowers while we wait.  They’ve mowed, but a lot of the early flowers are very short, so you might be in luck.  We’ll just have to crouch right down in the grass.

Found something already? Good eyes!  That is one tiny flower.  Even though it is bright lilac, it would be easy to overlook it.

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You found some even smaller, pale ones.  Do you like those better?

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Sigyn, come look at this one! Stripes!

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Oh.  When the human female said, “Spring Beauty,” I thought she was talking about you.  So that’s what it’s called?

Sigyn seems to be focussd in on pink today.  This little wild geranium looks nothing like the houseplant kind.

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Uh, oh. The lawnmower has done a number on this one.  The human female says it’s supposed to be a foot tall, with heart-shaped fruit.

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Though why that means it’s called “Shepherd’s purse” is beyond me.

You’ve got something else over here?  I don’t see anyth— Oh.  There it is.  By Idunn’s Itty Bitty Green Apples, that is a small flower.

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Nice shade of blue, though.  The human female says it’s called “speedwell.”

More speedwell over here.  Sigyn is in love.

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Maybe we should rub some on that plane, because it is taking FOREVER to get here.

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In Search of Posies, Part I: Not a Dozen Long-Stemmed Roses

The human female wanted flowers for her birthday or for Valentine’s day, and of course Sigyn deserves flowers any day of the year, but the human male and I are too  cheap ecologically minded to buy into the wholesale slaughter of hothouse blossoms and over-hyped marketing that is the commercial floral trade, so we have brought our women out to look at real, live flowers on a sunny early spring day. Fisi has come along as well.  I know, I know–I am a pushover, but YOU try telling something half-crazed and toothy that it isn’t welcome in the car.

Ahhh.  I will grudgingly admit that it is a very fine day.  The sun is shining, the breeze is most temperate, and various avian reptiles are holding forth tunefully.  The bright red ones merely repeat, “birdie, birdie, birdie,” but the gray and white ones have quite the repertoire of warbles, tweets, and chirps.  The human female calls those “mockingbirds.”  What a fine creature!  One would make a most suitable companion for a God of Mischief.  I shall make it a point to capture and tame one and teach it to sing, “Thor is a big doof.”

The human female and Sigyn have made a beeline for a patch of green that, at first glance, appears to have no flowers at all. Upon closer inspection, however, it is the dainty plant the human female calls chickweed. Sigyn is greeting it like an old friend.

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As, I suppose, she should, having made its acquaintance (with an equal amount of squealing) last year about this time.

But it is not little, weedy European plants we have come out to see.  No, we are after native wildflowers.  The human female seems to have some species particularly in mind and is bent over, quartering the lawn like Volstagg on the scent of foodstuffs at a fair.

We have apparently located our goal.  Behold–spring beauties!

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Yes, Sigyn, I do see the stripes.  They are quite decorative.

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No, Fisi!  BAD hyena!  Do NOT eat the stripey flowers!

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Or eat them if you absolutely must, but if you are sick in the car on the way home, I will make an ugly throw rug out of your moth-eaten spotty hide.

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