Horehound. It’s everywhere in central Texas. Field after field of purple horehounds (technically “black” horehound), presumably from our unusually ample downpours.
What I find curious is that Google has no matches for “fields of horehound,” and that vexes me. So while I understand that this post is of little interest to any readers, it behooves me to have to document that there are, in fact, fields of horehound.
Texas Senator Price Daniel slides some skin to carnation-clad Dr. C.D. Johnson, while the jocular missus beams with pride (and some stylish four-tiered pearls).
I’m not exaggerating when I say the bees have been swarming our holly bushes by the hundreds, maybe thousands. As soon as we open the front door, we can hear their deafening buzz, trying to avoid their erratic trails as they flit from blossom to blossom.
And while I do suffer from melissophobia, I know that this is good for the bees, and good for the earth. But I do count down the days till they shoo away because I HATE BEE STINGS. So I stand back and let them go at the holly bushes, ten feet wide and taller than I am.
All images by photojournalist Carl Mydans in the oil boom town of Freer, Texas in 1937.
I’m guessing this was taken at a Mexican restaurant that happened to have a tree inside it.
Can you imagine a 19-year-old dressing like this for a track meet?
Even minus the heels, in penny loafers and socks, Betty is dressed to impress.
Surely those soldiers were trying not to stare at Trebie.
Budgie knew how to hit the books.
Pat re-enacted her Gone With The Wind fantasy.
These fellows tried to get their attention after the photo shoot. Good luck!
It doesn’t seem like that long ago, but it’s been 40 years…
I Don't Get It 