Changing Perspective

Thinking about thistles.

Sometimes I just can’t help myself. I constantly photograph wildflowers on my walks in the country. I came across this thistle while perusing my picture collection this evening and chuckled to myself. My, how perspectives change.

Until my trip with Teen Missions, during which I was required to wear construction boots every waking hour for an entire summer, my feet were TOUGH! I loved the outdoors and constantly ran the yard barefooted. I played soccer that way sometimes. Burr clover, no problem. Endless hours at the beach I’d jump rock to rock along the water’s edge shoeless.

Even tough feet have their limits it would seem. I ventured out into the snow and ice barefoot once, just once. Blackberry vines were easy enough to avoid, but thistles, well that was another matter. They would sprout up just any old place in the yard and, kept short by the mower, would catch me by surprise. Those EVIL weeds. Green like whatever remained of the grass before summer took its toll, every inch of every leaf covered with needle-like spikes, they laid wait for my unprotected toes. Ouch! In my later years I learned just to dig them up and be done with it. When you have the perspective of a barefoot schoolchild, thistles are the enemy.

I was at a party when I had the first inkling of a perspective change regarding thistles. Someone had used four thistle blossoms to top a beautiful, green salad. What! Whose idea was that? Honestly, I’m not sure I was really aware those evil weeds were capable of producing flowers before that point. That enemy of my feet certainly never survived long enough in our yard to find out.

Fast forward many years to my time living out in the country by the dump. When everything was shut down due to the pandemic, how I enjoyed my evening walks along gravel roads with my daughter. Hardly a day went by that I didn’t stop right and left to photograph some new flower or an interesting plant. It was during that time that thistles became an object of fascination. Day by day I watched flowers develop atop thorny towers. Before any clusters of threadlike, purple petals appeared in the centers, green, spiky textures captured me. Feet unthreatened by vegetation growing along the roadside as opposed to in my lawn, I began viewing thistles as they were, wildflowers, wildflowers with an irresistible texture. Seen day after day by the light of a setting sun, thistles came to be gorgeous works of art by my Father’s hand.

Just now I enjoyed a good laugh when this thought occurred to me. I wonder if my new lawn nemesis, chiggers, are beautiful when you view them up close in just the right light. I looked it up. Nope. Well, at least not yet. After all, perspectives do change.