Each spring when the lilacs bloom, I remember Francis, a neighbor from my childhood. Francis gave us tours of his colonial house, invited us to dig in an ancient family dump to find antique bottles, and told us stories of ghosts who shared the old house. His grandmother planted countless lilacs on the property. When I was a child, these lilacs were ancient, towered over me, and created enchanting childhood
Lilacs growing on my property today are the offspring of my mom's lilacs. Her lilacs are the offspring of Francis' lilacs. Though Francis and his ancient lilacs are gone, each spring when my lilacs bloom, I remember the kind old gentleman I once knew.
Each blossom has a story to tell. Ant covered peony buds signal the end of another school year. As buds explode to bloom our childhood hearts burst with the joy of freedom.
Each flower, each fragrance, holds a reminder of a day gone by.
Like the day my mom planted the old fashioned roses along the split rail fence...
The gardeners who came before me filled my world with beauty...