Lilacs in Bloom

Early this morning, I glanced at the lilacs blooming outside my office window. From my desk, I'm able to see the seasonal changes that range from stark to full—like the lilac buds that form as the snow falls then blossom to their fullest as the days brighten and warm.

The bushes are at their peak right now. The fragrance they emit is bold. The memories they evoke are strong.

As I looked at my lilacs, I was bemused by the influence certain memories hold over little things we do day to day, by the simple traditions that blossom from ordinary, seemingly insignificant events.

The rear property line at my childhood home had a full hedge of lilac bushes separating our lot from the neighbor's. The boundary was long. The trimming endless! Oh, how I hated that chore. Well . . . I hated chores. Period. But that hedge created serious manual labor that included some poking and prodding, from the bushes and my brother(!), along the row.

One memory that's stuck with me is of my father bringing in a bouquet of blooms from those bushes and placing it in a vase on the kitchen table. Every spring.

A tradition I've continued with my own bushes.

I know spring has fully sprung when I cut my bouquet and bring it into my kitchen to display. Today was that day.

Thankfully the blooms don't last long once they're cut; the fragrance is overwhelming, almost more than my family can handle, and everyone's eager for me to toss them.

But spring wouldn't be the same without lilacs gracing the kitchen table, if only for a day.

Thinking about my childhood spent playing in that yard, barely a memory exists without those bushes in the background.

Over time, those bushes became fewer with more space between. I'm not sure if my father thinned them because the neighbor complained. Maybe he just wanted less to maintain. Perhaps some thinned themselves due to death and decay.

You might say those bushes were much like our family—growing together, blossoming, then gradually thinning one by one, leaving empty spaces but countless memories.

Seasonal changes.

I hope your spring is in bloom, filled with sights and scents that call forth warm memories.