Yesterday, I planted lilacs. They usually bloom in the first week of May and I have always loved their intense perfume which seems to fill my head and cascade down the back of my throat. I love the varieties of lavender to purple color, the fronds of tiny blossoms. In the past, I brought armfuls of branches in to the house, filling every room with fragrance and causing my oldest child to sneeze repeatedly. The smell of lilacs now call up memories of Alby.
In my new home, there is one old, scrawny lilac, struggling towards the sun and not having much success as it is surrounded by fir trees. So I was thrilled when a colleague told me that he would be winnowing out his wild patch of lilacs, not encroaching on his walkway. Gladly, I accept a bucket full of shoots.
Yesterday I planted ordinary lilacs. I spread these shoots out in the yard several sunny places. I also planted some Korean lilacs with smaller flowers. This morning, cup of coffee in hand, I visited these new residents in my garden to say hello and welcome them. They are standing up straight, reaching towards the sky. In a couple of years, I will again be scenting my home with their aroma, remembering Alby with a smile.