Something Beautiful is a self-imposed initiative to find a visual feast for each day of a year.
I like what I like. Weed or not. I like color and I like chicory. My family will tell you that from an early age color bewitched me. My penchant for defining a color by its name is legend. Terra cotta red. Celadon green. Warm blonde. Cool ash. Cornflower blue or chickory blue.
The soft almost blue violet of the roadside chicory blossoms inspired the long linen skirt worn by my bridesmaids. I purchased blouses, scarves, chenille throws, pillows, and dresses—all because they bore the color.
I never tire of it. By most accounts it is a roadside weed. Chicory is one of the earliest plants recorded in literature. In the south its roots are roasted and ground into a coffee substitute. Weed or not, it has always been a sign of summer—a welcome reminder of being a girl running my hands through waist high chicory lining the country roads.