Still working hard on getting the next book ready ... but I needed a pause to get my column out for http://www.4countymall.com/.
SLIGHTLY
OFF THE MARK
Ah, spring! That time of year when
we give up complaining about one set of annoyances, in favor of complaining
about another set of annoyances. It’s kind of like the aftermath of a
Congressional election.
Here in northern Indiana, spring
starts sometime between mid-March and late May. Signs of spring include hungry
insects; excited weathermen; and columns of smoke, from people whose first
action on shedding their winter coats is to go outside and burn something.
Sometimes it’s even what they intended to burn.
But it’s not winter, and that’s
something. Have you already forgotten the spinning tires, the blue fingers, the
loss of feeling in exposed skin? Winter kills, man. Has anyone ever died from
spring weather, or bee stings?
Okay, bad examples.
One of my favorite signs of spring
is flowers. It used to be bikinis, but I don’t have the body for them anymore.
When I was younger I didn’t think much about them (flowers—I thought about
bikinis a lot). Now I quite literally like to stop and smell the flowers, a
harmless occupation if you’re not the guy walking behind me. When I was
researching my upcoming book, Hoosier
Hysterical: How the West Became the Midwest Without Moving At All …
Whew. Let me catch my breath—long
subtitle. Whose idea was that? Oh, mine? Well, it’s not too long.
Anyway, I discovered while
researching Indiana history that our state has suffered long bouts of
infighting over, believe it or not, flowers. Specifically the state flower.
Like most states, our leaders spent long hours deciding what should represent
us. Indiana has a state beverage, stone, poem, rifle—even airplane. (You have
to read the book to find out what they are. Or you could go to an encyclopedia,
but I’d prefer you read the book.)
When it comes to the flower, in
1913 the Indiana General Assembly declared it to be the carnation, which is a
nice flower—and also a good way to identify your blind date across a crowded
room. Unfortunately, as someone pointed out after
we made it the state flower, the carnation isn’t native to Indiana.
So a decade later the General
Assembly picked the tulip tree blossom, instead. It only took ten years. Then,
in 1931, they traded that in for a zinnia. Zinnia? It’s a flower, apparently,
and related to the sunflower tribe within the daisy family, and isn’t Google
grand? That’s right, sunflowers are related to daisies, and zinnia is their
illegitimate child who someone named while still on labor pain medications.
Rumors swirled like blossoms that
the debate was dominated by an influential farmer. His crop happened to be …
you guessed it … no, not corn! Zinnias. But at least that settled it.
Well, that settled it until 1957.
The dogwood had gained popularity, and it looked like that might be our new
state flower, until one of the representatives stuck his flowery hand into the
debate. That rep was also a farmer, only his product was … the peony. At least
this time they first confirmed the peony was native to Indiana.
Oh, wait … no they didn’t.
Still, perhaps sensing that this
was silly even by political body standards, the General Assembly stuck to their
guns—or rather, their pistils. Little Magnoliophyta joke, there. The dogwood
lost its bark, while as a consolation prize, the tulip became the state tree.
The carnation? Never heard from again.
And what of the Crocus? The Dwarf
Iris? The Striped Squill? Trick question: Those are all B-list Batman villains.
This all may seem a bit silly, but
hey—we even have our own state soil. Yeah, the Miami, described as a brown silt
loam. At least, that’s the dirt I dug up.
If I spend entire sections of Hoosier Hysterical discussing such silly
subjects, it should be remembered that I wasn’t going for the profound … unless
you mean profoundly silly. Silly it might be, but there really were raging
debates over the state flower. It’s not like our nickname, The Hoosier State,
which was pretty much agreed on right from the beginning.
Although come to think of it, I
spend an entire section on the word Hoosier, too.
As for the flower, I’m personally a
fan of the lilac. We have two lilac bushes in our back yard … well, trees now,
but don’t judge me on my lack of landscaping care. Also don’t judge me on the
fact that, in the short lilac bloom period, I like to spread the blossoms
through the house to drive out that we-really-need-to-spring-clean winter
smell.
Then they’re gone all too soon,
sometimes before the colder days of spring are through. I suppose that’s a good
enough reason why the lilac isn’t Indiana’s state flower … not to mention it’s
not native to Indiana.
Of course … neither are most
Hoosiers.
