Springtime is definitely my favorite season. I love the freshness, the rebirth, the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and the vivid display of color. Spring provides a sense of hope. And it smells good! The only negative is having to "spring forward." My sleep cycle is still goofed up!
My favorite spring flowers are violets. This is an easy choice. There are many flowers that I love, but violets are special. I am especially fond of the heart-shaped leaves and the flower's delicate scent.
When I was a litte girl, I would frequently gather large bunches of wild violets from the field near our house. The field didn't belong to my parents, so I suppose I was trespassing. And stealing! I find it interesting that the thought of "trespassing and stealing" has never occurred to me, until now. Hmmmm.... (It is far too late to apologize to the field's owners, Mr. and Mrs. Trueblood, for my past trangressions, especially since neither Harold nor Mary is still living. I am sure they knew what I was up to and allowed it to happen.)
After picking as many blossoms as I could find, I would eagerly run to our back door, bouquet hidden behind my back, knock, then wait for my mother to answer the door. Mom was never out of sorts that I had interrupted whatever activity she was involved with. With great joy, I would present my floral offering of love and affection. Hugs and kisses were exchanged -- all part of the "ritual" that I highly anticipated. Sometimes I would see tears in my mother's eyes, and as a youngster, I couldn't understand why or how violets would produce tears.
Mom would select the perfect vase and arrange the blossoms as if they were a priceless treasure. The violet bouquet was always placed on the window ledge just above the kitchen sink. I suppose this location was chosen due to the fact that Mom spent many hours each day at the sink as she prepared food and washed dishes for our large-ish family. She wanted her flowers to be in plain view at all times. She would not discard the bouquet until the last blossom withered. An empty vase was my cue to get back out to the field.
Last spring, as I was visiting my parents, I was able to find enough violets to make a decent bouquet. I held the violets behind my back and was instantly transported to being about eight years old...
My parents have not lived in the house near the field of "free" flowers for twenty-some years. Violets grow in one of their flower beds, so I didn't have to beg, borrow, or steal the blossoms that made up my last bouquet. I guess that I felt compelled to share that detail, in an effort to ameliorate the trespassing/flower-stealing reputation I seem to have acquired.
It warms my heart that at least one of the three Smithlings still carries on the tradition of being a violet picker/deliverer. The "hidden-behind-the-back" bouquet thing just comes naturally, I guess. I didn't even have to tell my kids the story of how I used to pick flowers for my mom in an effort to drop hints that I, too, would like to be the recipient of a bunch of flowers, given with love. Over the years, all three Smith kids have delivered their fair share of bouquets comprised of violets, dandelions, and other unidentifiable things. I will always cherish those memories.
My twelve-year-old might be getting too old to bring me freshly-picked blossoms, but I am hoping to get at least one more spring delivery of violets this year. No stealing or borrowing is required, as I planted violets in my garden last week. Hint! Hint!
See the above photo? Those violets are happily growing in my garden; that is, until they get picked.
