Chuck Briscoe
May 2021 Daily News Column
 
When Lilacs Last:
 
  I grew up in a very tiny home in a predominately Polish neighborhood in Northeast Minneapolis.  Some people always call it “nordeast.”  I am not sure we ever used that term growing up.   We had a very narrow long driveway with a one car garage.  I know it was long because growing up it was my job to help shovel that long, long driveway.   On the right side of the driveway my mother and dad  had planted a lilac hedge when they moved into the house the same year I was born.  As the lilacs grew, so did I.  I was soon given a snow shovel and the task  for me was to shovel the snow around or over the bushes.   As the bushes got taller,  the task grew more challenging.
 
The smell of lilacs while walking or riding my bike reminds me of my childhood home on Heights Drive.  The Lilac flower came from Europe.  The common lilac hedge that we had was a product of settlers from Serbia, Bosnia and England.  The settlers to America began to have them shipped to this country in the late 1700’s to satisfy their memory of home.  The family of lilacs that made up our hedge had to be one of the hardiest bushes to ever exist.  I would watch my dad trim each bush down to nearly the ground.  Somehow, they would fire back up and within a short time would be almost as tall as when he had trimmed them.   As a child, I knew when I could smell  the Lilacs, the end of the school year was just a few weeks away.  For eight years, every Franciscan Sister,  who was my teacher  received   a vase of lilacs in May.   They always smiled when I gave them the vase of flowers  and I secretly hoped the lilacs helped my final grade that year!
 
 When we were kids,  the last day of school was the Friday before Memorial Day.  There were no exceptions, we always finished the school year on that Friday.  As a child, there is no better feeling then to be in elementary school as the school days dwindle down,  knowing there will be  three months of summer vacation ahead.   There is a lot more daylight in May,  so we got to spend more time outside.  I smelled the Lilacs on my early morning paper route, on my bike ride to school, on the playground and playing games in the neighborhood after dinner.  In May we often stayed outside until my mother rang a bell, or my dad sounded his very loud whistle to let us know that it was time to come inside.  I know we had the windows open at night, so the smell of lilacs would drift inside as we fell asleep listening to the Twins game on a very small transistor radio.
 
My mother was called home to Heaven at Christmas over ten years ago now. When the lilacs were blooming, she would cut off some branches and bring the flowers inside.  Some were arranged in the living room and dining room and a tiny clipping would always sit in what I think was a shot glass on the windowsill in the kitchen.  Like the fragrance of her favorite flower, the
memory of her is sweet and overpowering.    It brings me joy when I close my eyes and picture that long lilac hedge.  This spring let the smell of lilacs take you back to your youth.