I think my favorite flower is lilac. When I was a little girl in New Jersey, we had a lilac bush in the yard, and I knew what it was, but I took it for granted in that way that children do with plants and birds. We moved to Saudi Arabia when I was 13, and I can't say I missed the lilac bush, although of course there was no such thing growing on that salty strip of land, reclaimed from the Arabian Sea and the Rub' al Khali, where we lived.
At 14, I was sent off to boarding school with the other ex-patriot children of my age. No western teens were allowed to live in the Kingdom full time, bad influence, don't ya know. My school was in Switzerland, and I cannot complain. As part of our curriculum, "in-program travel," we all signed up for short trips to all sorts of European destinations. And so, in the spring of my junior year, I went on a bike trip to the south of France.
It was gray and rainy for the first part of the trip as we made the hard ride across the mountains of Provence. The grass was brilliant green from the season, from the rain, from the light. We rode in twos and threes and made frequent stops to fuel up on an international combo of Swiss chocolate, fromaggio bel paese and baguette. As I pedaled on a rare flat stretch of road, I was literally stopped by the most wonderful fragrance. It was sweet and light and reminded me of... something. Something I knew, but couldn't place. I looked around, unable to go on until I found what it was.
There by a narrow two-story yellow house, grew a bush that spread out like a bouquet beside the road. Its branches were heavy with clusters of light purple flowers. "Lilac!" I whispered to myself. Just then, a boy on the trip caught up to me and stopped to see if I was okay. "Those flowers," I told him, "we had them in my yard when I was a kid." Without a word, he got off his bike and climbed the stone wall that separated the garden from the road and broke a branch from the top of the Lilac and gave it to me and then rode on before I could even say thank you.
Nice boy, sweet story. Isn't it amazing how all of the sense are such a part of memories?
ReplyDeletewhat lilac is for you, lavender is for me. the scent of it takes me way back into my childhood.
ReplyDeleteyour post brought up memories of camping-holidays with my mum, traveling through the south of france, seeing (and smelling)the lavender fields. (and the wild horses in camargue...)
thanks for this post
greetings from the lake of constance
(and please apologize my rusty and clumsy english)sends
claudia
I'm a fan of lilac as well, and here in my hot climate, it doesn't grow as well as it did in my childhood mountains.
ReplyDeleteHowever, Claudia will be happy to know that I grow lavender like a weed around here (a big bush is calling out to be trimmed in my front yard).
This was a lovely post with the descriptions, the memories and that wonderful bike trip with a chunk of lilac attached to your handlebars (I'm assuming here). Bliss!
Elizabeth
http://peninkpaper.blogspot.com/