I’m thinking about memories of Spring today……and my two grandmas who were as different as could be……

Lilacs remind me of my two grandmas.

Every spring, my Grandma Thatcher’s house in Cache Valley, Utah was surrounded by lilac bushes bursting with fragrant bouquets waiting to be harvested. Grandma’s steadiness and hard work were symbolized by the hearty purple buds. Their sweet aroma filled the air  as chirping birds were returning from their winter’s travels.

Lilacs were a given each year. And like the lilacs, Grandma was a survivor.   Her own heartiness was exemplary. Up at 5 am every morning for a full day’s work, grandma was solid and dependable. The bushes lacked pruning and refinement, but produced branches and branches of finery. Grandma loved that I enjoyed the beautiful blossoms and their delicate fragrance. She had told me proudly that the lilac bushes had been planted by earlier family members and one could be proud of their work.  Grandma had been raised by a widow at a time when there weren’t very many options for single mothers.  Her family got by on the small amount her mother could get from producing eggs and butter from the family farm. She had learned to make do and do the tough things needed to survive.