Katherine Nicolai

The lilacs had faded by then.

High summer was upon us, and the tall trees made a shady canopy.

The next few years had brought lots of hard work.

The roof was repaired.

A new kitchen fitted in.

And the rotten boards torn out on the front porch to be replaced with sweet-smelling new ones.

I spent one long summer painting everything inside and out.

finding paint in my hair and on every piece of clothing I owned till I finally finished.

The gardens had been edged and cleared and replanted.

The clothesline was rehung, and I added a patio beside it where I could sit

Along with all of this, I added something I'd envisaged that first day, when I'd been caught with my full basket, and that was more lilacs.

I planted a long row of lilac trees and bushes, different colors and varieties, all along the road.

And within a few years, they had grown to be thick and hardy,

and to produce a sea of flowers each spring.

Along the line of lilacs, a neighbor had helped me build a small stand, like the kind you might buy corn or tomatoes at in the summer.

and I stocked it with old baskets and cloth sacks, a few pairs of shears and gardening gloves.

Across the front, I'd added a sign that I'd painted by hand, kneeling on an old sheet spread out in the grass.

I'd spot a row of cars parked along the street

one might step out with a cup of coffee in hand to chat with those who had come to gather some beauty from a place that had once been a secret.

the short weeks at the end of April and through the beginning of May, when a step outside my back door would deliver me a lungful of the sweetest smelling air these acres held.