This was a busy work day, but the sun actually came out strong, the temperature warmed, and though I was supposed to be virtuous and write non-stop, virtue did not prevail... well, not entirely. At the very least, I needed to get outside to check on the progress of some of my indicator garden plants. One of them, a little patch of Tennessee White Iris that we've been nurturing for several years, is finally showing signs of expanding, and yesterday, I noticed that the pretty plants, which are no more than a foot tall, were graced with fat white flower buds, close to opening but not quite there. Like most irises, both native and exotic, the blossoms don't last very long, so I knew I'd best get out and check on them, micro lens at the ready to document the show. The plants, which are native to the more mountainous areas of the Southeast—with one weird disjunct population of Iris cristata on the North Shore area of Massachusetts—came to us by way of a nursery, and, as a sign of mid-May, they had opened those intricate and gorgeous flowers, complete with the wavy yellow interior crest that gives the plant its trademark common and scientific name. Bring on the bees, and, in keeping with the plant's home town, the country music.