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We’ve planted lilac trees in every garden wherever we’ve lived. Sometimes, we’ve lived in the house long enough to see our trees grow and thrive, and sometimes not. Lilacs are notoriously fickle and temperamental, and their blooms last a very short time. Still, we love them, plant them, and hope. Each tree we planted represented something of the love and hope with which the Smith family settled, once again, in a new house.
When we bought our farm, I noticed lilac bushes growing by one of the barns. My heart sang. We closed on our purchase last July, long after lilac season had come and gone. Every time I walked by the trees, I would imagine them in all their Spring glory. Spring seemed a long way away. Last week, finally, we were rewarded – every tree was in full bloom. All weekend, as we worked to mow knee high grass and clear flower beds of winter debris, we did so with the fragrance of lilacs wafting through the air.
I kept meaning to get my camera to take pictures … which I did not get around to until night time, when I had stolen a few blossoms for our dinner table:
which now sit by our kitchen window back in New Jersey, and on my desk in Room 202. These flowers have a story before our life at the farm, and now they have become part of ours.