I am a huge lilac lover. Of course, having been raised in Rochester, NY, home of the internationally famous Highland Lilac Festival, could you expect anything less?
So, I can hardly describe to you my excitement when I discovered three dormant lilac bushes on our property when we bought it last autumn. They finally burst into bloom in April, one at a time—two purples, one white. I was ecstatic! As soon as the buds were open enough that the scent drifted in through my kitchen window, I rushed outside with a pair of scissors to bring in the bounty.
I felt just like Anne Shirley. As I arranged the vases, I could imagine prim Marilla scolding me for “cluttering up the house with outdoor things.” I laughed to myself and inhaled the delicious scent of springtime and home.
Of course, the sweetest blessing of all came not from the lilacs, but from the tiny bouquet of buttercups, rhododendron buds, and woodland hyacinth that my children eagerly gathered for me.
They deposited their blooms shining-faced and eager into my waiting palms. And I promptly put them in crystal with a dose of fresh water. Because that is what you do with precious things.