Katherine Nicolai

When I saw a pamphlet about their expansion project, the whole idea had come together.

Volunteers were helping me cut and prepare the lilacs.

and sell them at the market today.

They were here among the trees with me now.

The goal was for each person to pick three buckets worth.

Then we'd load up the van and head to the booth before it opened in the late morning.

We collected scads of donated vases from friends and family, and we'd make bouquets of the different colored blooms to entice market-goers.

I snipped another branch with several clumps of rosy-hued flowers.

and dew fell from the petals and leaves above me, giving me a brief shower.

I chuckled, and I thought of how far I'd come from those days, riding around town, swiping stems, and how a random turn on a country road can change your life.

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.

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.

There was the 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'd been caught purple-handed.

Red-faced, I owned up to my thievery and apologized.

But she insisted.