In May, 2010, I found myself tooling up the Gulf Coast Highway in Texas listening to this Nanci Griffth tape I’d had for ages. Route 77, the leg I was on, is apparently a major drug-, gun-, money-, poached game- and people-running corridor.
I didn’t see a ton of bluebonnets but it was a thrill to actually be in the place the song was about.
“And when he dies
he says he’ll catch some blackbird’s wing
Then she will fly away to Heaven,
come some sweet bluebonnet spring”…