Mom's Lilac Bush
My favorite thing about spring, or one of them, is the smell of all the flowers, trees and shrubs as they bloom. It doesn't get any better than nature's scented gifts to enjoy.
One of the best things about living in Louisville, for me, was that spring breezes absolutely fill the air with these precious aromas. There is more abundant fragrance than I ever noticed in Michigan, where I grew up, or certainly in Tucson, where I spent several years. I had heard people talk about aromatic southern south winds before. Living in Kentucky,, and having a house with a yard that I filled with flowers, certainly gave meaning to the phrase.
When I was growing up, we had one large lilac bush on each side of our front porch. When it got nice enough to have the screen door open and let the winds blow in, it was also time for those bushes to bloom. That was heavenly to me. I would sit in our living room and simply breathe the fragrance into every cell of my body. I would allow myself to feel the stirrings of rebirth, renewal and life, which is the promise and the definition of spring. I deeply believe that if there were more chances for more people to smell more flowers, there would not be so much anger, pain and depression. It's hard not to smile and feel an inner joy and peace when you smell the springtime and, especially lilacs.
My mother loved the land and animals and all of nature and she definitely passed that love along to me. She showed me all of the flowers that she could find and when we were going for a Sunday drive, it was not unheard of to stop along the road in order to allow me to touch and smell and learn about something she did not think I had seen before. I'd listen to her talk about gardening, and I inherited her natural green thumbs. I told myself often through the years that if I ever got the chance, I would have a lilac bush someday or at least be near one so I could basque in its fragrance and reflect on my mother.
My mom died in September of 1995 and at the time, my life was rather full of turmoil. I know it saddened her that I wasunresolved about so many things.
When my partner and I got our house in January of 2002, and I knew that I would have some yard space, I began to consider what I would plant. I knew that if it did not have a scent, it would not make my list. As a person who is totally blind, I am not much acquainted with color.
The first item I acquired and ,by far, the most special was a little Korean Lilac bush. It was very healthy, but I was told that it would not bloom for perhaps three to five years. I was unhappy about the delay, but the bush had been given to me as a gift and I knew I would treasure it. I decided I would simply have to enjoy the neighbor's big, wonderfully-scented lilac bush until the time of its first blooming.
On a Monday evening, in mid March, in a cold, light drizzle, I sat outside on the ground to begin the process of digging the hole in which to place the little bush. From the moment I took the shovel into my hands, I felt my mother's presence. It was a very intense feeling, and an incredibly spiritual experience. I could feel her smile and hear her words of encouragement. I knew she was sharing in this, my first spring planting. I knew she would have great joy because I now had peace in my life and had found a loving partner with which to share it. I knew that she'd be proud of the yard and the flowers, and especially the bush I was now planting. So I cried like the child I had once been as I dug the hole and, with great gentleness and a feeling of utter reverence, lowered the bush into its new home. when I was done, I smiled and laughed, and then cried some more. It was a glorious spring ritual, and a celebration of my mother.
Against all the odds, against all I had been told and had read, that spectacular, baby bush bloomed that very year about a month after I planted it. Not just a couple of little blooms here and there, but full of blooms. Every part of it radiating pure joy at being alive. The scent was amazing and carried tosurrounding houses.
My bush never missed blooming every spring from that first in 2002 through the spring of 2010. My father died in October of 2010, and within days of his passing, my precious and beloved bush died too. I understand that all things have a time and a season, but I will always wonderbe struck by the timing.
I no longer live in that house with that splendid yard. I have moved back to Michigan and into a townhouse. I can not have a Lilac bush, but I will make sure I find some every spring if at all possible. There beauty and scent mean more to me than the heralding of spring and summer. My mother speaks to me every time I smell them. My heart warms and I laugh a lot and weep a little. I also remember to whisper a sincere, heart-felt thank you to the universe for all of life and for my mother!
One of the best things about living in Louisville, for me, was that spring breezes absolutely fill the air with these precious aromas. There is more abundant fragrance than I ever noticed in Michigan, where I grew up, or certainly in Tucson, where I spent several years. I had heard people talk about aromatic southern south winds before. Living in Kentucky,, and having a house with a yard that I filled with flowers, certainly gave meaning to the phrase.
When I was growing up, we had one large lilac bush on each side of our front porch. When it got nice enough to have the screen door open and let the winds blow in, it was also time for those bushes to bloom. That was heavenly to me. I would sit in our living room and simply breathe the fragrance into every cell of my body. I would allow myself to feel the stirrings of rebirth, renewal and life, which is the promise and the definition of spring. I deeply believe that if there were more chances for more people to smell more flowers, there would not be so much anger, pain and depression. It's hard not to smile and feel an inner joy and peace when you smell the springtime and, especially lilacs.
My mother loved the land and animals and all of nature and she definitely passed that love along to me. She showed me all of the flowers that she could find and when we were going for a Sunday drive, it was not unheard of to stop along the road in order to allow me to touch and smell and learn about something she did not think I had seen before. I'd listen to her talk about gardening, and I inherited her natural green thumbs. I told myself often through the years that if I ever got the chance, I would have a lilac bush someday or at least be near one so I could basque in its fragrance and reflect on my mother.
My mom died in September of 1995 and at the time, my life was rather full of turmoil. I know it saddened her that I wasunresolved about so many things.
When my partner and I got our house in January of 2002, and I knew that I would have some yard space, I began to consider what I would plant. I knew that if it did not have a scent, it would not make my list. As a person who is totally blind, I am not much acquainted with color.
The first item I acquired and ,by far, the most special was a little Korean Lilac bush. It was very healthy, but I was told that it would not bloom for perhaps three to five years. I was unhappy about the delay, but the bush had been given to me as a gift and I knew I would treasure it. I decided I would simply have to enjoy the neighbor's big, wonderfully-scented lilac bush until the time of its first blooming.
On a Monday evening, in mid March, in a cold, light drizzle, I sat outside on the ground to begin the process of digging the hole in which to place the little bush. From the moment I took the shovel into my hands, I felt my mother's presence. It was a very intense feeling, and an incredibly spiritual experience. I could feel her smile and hear her words of encouragement. I knew she was sharing in this, my first spring planting. I knew she would have great joy because I now had peace in my life and had found a loving partner with which to share it. I knew that she'd be proud of the yard and the flowers, and especially the bush I was now planting. So I cried like the child I had once been as I dug the hole and, with great gentleness and a feeling of utter reverence, lowered the bush into its new home. when I was done, I smiled and laughed, and then cried some more. It was a glorious spring ritual, and a celebration of my mother.
Against all the odds, against all I had been told and had read, that spectacular, baby bush bloomed that very year about a month after I planted it. Not just a couple of little blooms here and there, but full of blooms. Every part of it radiating pure joy at being alive. The scent was amazing and carried tosurrounding houses.
My bush never missed blooming every spring from that first in 2002 through the spring of 2010. My father died in October of 2010, and within days of his passing, my precious and beloved bush died too. I understand that all things have a time and a season, but I will always wonderbe struck by the timing.
I no longer live in that house with that splendid yard. I have moved back to Michigan and into a townhouse. I can not have a Lilac bush, but I will make sure I find some every spring if at all possible. There beauty and scent mean more to me than the heralding of spring and summer. My mother speaks to me every time I smell them. My heart warms and I laugh a lot and weep a little. I also remember to whisper a sincere, heart-felt thank you to the universe for all of life and for my mother!