Katherine Nicolai

And that's saying something, because life out here

On the edge of the woods, near a creek where bullfrogs jug a rum and foxes sleep among the ferns.

Where stars stand out brightly against the midnight sky is already pretty sweet.

It's strange how a casual left turn down a dirt road many years ago had led me to this new life.

I'd been out on a springtime caper, and I do mean that in the thieving sense of the word.

Listen, I return my grocery cart to the corral.

I don't open other people's mail, and I'm more likely to leave a penny than take one.

But there is one area of my life where I have been known to be downright criminal.

I am a lilac thief, or at least I was when I came to that crossroads all those years ago and turned.

If you've ever leaned into a bouquet of lilac blossoms and breathed in the incredible scent of them,

You might understand what drove me to pack a pair of garden gloves, some snippers, and a basket into the back of my getaway car and sneak out into the country.

I had a few favorite spots I'd already hit that day.

There was a tree behind the library, a spot beside the highway, and a bush that grew through a fence near my house, where I could snag a few blooms, but I wanted more.

I remember it was early enough in the spring that sunlight still felt like a novelty.

and I'd had to fumble around in my glove box for some sunglasses.

I drove past an old, abandoned farmhouse.

and saw a whole row of lilac trees lining one side of the yard.

I craned my neck as I passed, trying to spot signs of life.

But no, the house clearly hadn't had a resident in ages.

A tree was growing up through part of the front porch, and the driveway was full of tumbleweeds and fallen branches.