Originally uploaded by norvegal
Spring isn't an easy time in Maine. While the rest of you are bragging about your daffodils and tulips, we're still shoveling out from the latest snow storm. By the time we finally catch up with the rest of the country, you're already in your bathing suits headed to the beach. When the lilacs finally bloom, which is happening right now, most folks can only reply distractedly, "Lilacs? Huh? Oh yeah, I remember those."
The lilacs represent a particularly special time here because they take hold of my life for one intoxicating week. My house is bordered by two enormous lilac hedges. By "enormous," I mean that each hedge is literally the size of a small house -- in fact one hedge surrounds a cellar pit where an old cape used to stand.
When these lilacs bloom, which they're in the midst of doing right now, everything smells of lilacs. If I walk out onto the porch, I am engulfed in that warm sweet powdery fragrance. Not a stenchy, headache-inducing synthetic perfume but the real deal. I can't see a single lilac from there, but I can smell them as clearly and intensely as if a huge bouquet were right beneath my nose.
And it's all happening right now. At this very moment, as I type these words, everything smells of lilac. Fresh flowers are, for me, the absolute epitome of luxury. (Well, that and freshly squeezed orange juice, clean sheets, and sweaters that never pill.)
So this is my favorite brief and enchanting period of time. It feels almost magic, as if fairies have been allowed to take over the world for a week. It is decadence and abundance, the floral version of suddenly having a machine that spouts $100 bills, or a faucet that offers up hot chocolate and fresh chilled lemonade. I only wish this blog had smell-o-vision so that you could enjoy it with me.