We were at the park yesterday playing in the creek (Ceiba up to her belly almost) and tossing rocks. On the way back to the car, we stopped to smell a lilac my nose detected when we had arrived.
Growing up, we had 2 lilac bushes on the farm: 1) the tiny ugly one by the barn that got run over by the tractor while each of us girls learned to cut grass and that the dogs always peed on. It never died, but it never grew. And 2) the giant, beautiful lilac in the backyard along the field road. The giant lilac bush was the one we cut from every spring to fill the waffley green vase on the kitchen table, put sprigs of on the west windowsill where the evening breeze blew through an open window or cut and wrapped in paper towels and tinfoil to take to our teachers at school. We could smell that lilac everytime we walked down the field road in April to mushroom hunt. It was the lilac we took a cutting from and planted in the backyard of our first home.
I smiled very wide today as Ceiba bent down to smell her first lilac... and missed home and bringing flowers into my mom :)