By the side of the road

I take many of my nature pictures along roadsides, even ones with lots of cars passing by (fortunately the noise doesn’t appear in the photographs). On May 10th I pulled over on the north side of RM (Ranch-to-Market) 2222 just west of the Capital of Texas Highway to get a good look at the plants there. Among other things, I found a thriving colony of Gaillardia pulchella, known as firewheels or Indian blankets. Though those flower heads almost always have ray florets that are largely red with yellow tips, I found two fully yellow flower heads on one plant in the colony. Here’s one of them:

The top picture also includes some young Maximilian sunflower plants, which won’t flower till the fall. What the prominent grass is, I haven’t been able to determine.

Today’s title reminded me of the aspirational poem “The House by the Side of the Road,” from Sam Walter Foss‘s 1897 collection Dreams in Homespun:

 

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the place of their self-content;
There are souls like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze the paths
Where highways never ran—
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

 
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat
Nor hurl the cynic’s ban—
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

 
I see from my house by the side of the road
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife,
But I turn not away from their smiles and tears,
Both parts of an infinite plan—
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

 
I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead,
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
And still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

 
Let me live in my house by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish — so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

 

© 2022 Steven Schwartzman