It’s surprising, even with the miles of back roads and gravel roads and side roads in Floyd County how hard it is to pull over when you spot a photo-worthy composition. There’s somebody behind you; it’s a quarter mile to a place to pull off, and that is across from somebody’s house, but far enough away. But their dogs spot you and set up a fuss. And you move on.
I’m hoping to do a better job this year of documenting the passage of time measured in roadside wildflowers (and the insects that visit them) so finding those marginal places for this purpose is high on my list.
And I did find such a place, not very far from home–a mile or more of gravel road that winds down past a sheltered farm surrounded by rising, rounded pastures. A small sign near the road give the name of the owner and his wife. There’s nobody there. Seeing the name, I remembered: I visited this elderly farmer at the suggestion of a local minister. He has stories to tell, the minister told me. He’s quite ill, staying at his sons, and would love to talk–especially since his wife died a few months back. I recorded about 15 minutes of our conversation from his bedside, and never did anything more with it. Now I’ve been reminded, I just might.
This very common roadside “weed” pictured here is chickory, Chichorium intybus. It’s a pretty little thing, but not easy to photograph to show it off at its best. Chichory is a relative of endive and radicchio, and I’m surprised I never experimented with its edible parts–with the exception of imbibing it this very moment as an adulterant of the Luisianne coffee in my cup.
Note: this image hosted at Photobucket, as my server priviledges are in limbo as I make the switch soon to WordPress and a new stall for this pony.