Buffalo Gal

A Georgia island marsh spreads beyond my windows, but my desk sits in the middle of Western New York.
Burning a fat, lilac-scented candle takes me to spring in a place with four distinct seasons.
I am not a floral gal. My wardrobe is solids and sensible stripes. I don't impose my tastes on others with perfume. But the mental image of a large, laden lilac bush is the centerpiece of my best place -- my grandmother, sweater nights and playing "kick the can" until dark.
Lilacs are not display or hothouse flowers. If you put an armload in a vase, the house will smell wonderful -- and the blooms will immediately start dropping. They'll do best if you just let them be. I like that, too.
Like me, it's too hot down here for them to flourish. They need a cooling season and little else. As I researched trying to trick them into growing here, I learned it can't happen. They won't even try in the wrong place. In the right place they are largely insect resistant and require minimal care. Their base is woody, solid and impervious to the slights of blizzards. They grow quickly and easily, providing shade, privacy, greenery and that amazing Grandma Mohn scent.
Called a "Poor Man's Flower" for it's ease of care, lilacs were imported from England in the 1800s and quickly became spring's scented harbringer in New England.
Azaleas sound the clarion in these parts, all show, all flowers and only for a few startling weeks... when they become non-descript, temepermental little shrubs again. All show and style, little substance.
But as for me, it's better to light one candle than curse the azaleas.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs

From Walt Whitman's "When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom'd"

"In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the white-wash�d palings,
Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle......and from this bush in the door-yard,
With delicate-color�d blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig, with its flower, I break."

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2004-05-07 7:50 AM Lilacs A Georgia island marsh spreads beyond my windows, but my desk sits in the middle of Western New York. Burning a fat, lilac-scented candle takes me to spring in a place with four distinct seasons. I am not a floral gal. My wardrobe is solids and sensible stripes. I don't impose my tastes on others with perfume. But the mental image of a large, laden lilac bush is the centerpiece of my best place -- my grandmother, sweater nights and playing "kick the can" until dark. Lilacs are not display or hothouse flowers. If you put an armload in a vase, the house will smell wonderful -- and the blooms will immediately start dropping. They'll do best if you just let them be. I like that, too. Like me, it's too hot down here for them to flourish. They need a cooling season and little else. As I researched trying to trick them into growing here, I learned it can't happen. They won't even try in the wrong place. In the right place they are largely insect resistant and require minimal care. Their base is woody, solid and impervious to the slights of blizzards. They grow quickly and easily, providing shade, privacy, greenery and that amazing Grandma Mohn scent. Called a "Poor Man's Flower" for it's ease of care, lilacs were imported from England in the 1800s and quickly became spring's scented harbringer in New England. Azaleas sound the clarion in these parts, all show, all flowers and only for a few startling weeks... when they become non-descript, temepermental little shrubs again. All show and style, little substance. But as for me, it's better to light one candle than curse the azaleas. Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs From Walt Whitman's "When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom'd" "In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the white-wash�d palings, Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich green, With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume strong I love, With every leaf a miracle......and from this bush in the door-yard, With delicate-color�d blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, A sprig, with its flower, I break." Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top