Picture this: late spring at our house, where the air practically danced with the sugary, punch-you-in-the-nose scent of lilac bushes. Those purple poofs lined our backyard like a royal guard, swaying in the breeze and tickling the chipped, rainbow mural Mom had painted onto our old garage with all the gusto of a 1970s art rebel.
As a kid, I’d channel my inner forest fairy, snapping off a lilac sprig to tuck behind my ear, instantly transforming into Princess Lilac of Backyardia. Mom? She was totally cool with my flower-snatching shenanigans. She got it—those blooms were like nature’s perfume, and we were both obsessed. At night, with the windows cracked open, that lilac scent would sneak into my room, wrapping me in memories of barefoot grass-dancing, firefly-chasing evenings, and Mom’s classic “dinner’s ready!” holler—yep, the original 1970s text message, delivered at max volume.
Now, Babcia’s house? That was a whole different kind of magic. Her place was a cozy, hug-shaped cottage, where the air felt like warm cocoa. Her kitchen windowsill was a jungle of African violets, their velvety purple petals practically begging for a tiny pat. Babcia would hand me her enchanted watering can (okay, it was just tin, but work with me), guiding my hands with her arthritic ones. “Violets are delicate, like fairy wings,” she’d whisper, her voice as soft as a lullaby. I’d pour just enough water, feeling like I’d cracked the code to some ancient plant-whisperer spell.
Fast forward, and Mom’s gone, the lilacs are history, and the house belongs to someone else. But when I close my eyes? BAM—that lilac scent teleports me back to my princess days, twirling in the yard. Babcia’s violets, though? They’re still kicking it, thriving in a perky little pot by my bay window, their dainty blooms winking at me like they know all my secrets. Lilacs and violets aren’t just plants—they’re like magical portals, zapping me back to those wild, love-filled days with the women who made me, well, me.
Lilacs and Violets truly did steal my heart. Now you know my blooming love affair.
Postscript: Every Mother’s Day my adult daughter finds someone who has a lilac bush so that she can snip me off a bouquet. It’s a tradition. Because the lilac season is so brief, I can still enjoy their scent year round with fabulous lilacs and violets candles, room spray, and air fresheners.
