When I was a little girl, I have distinct memories of picking bouquets of Virginia Bluebells and lilacs for my mom for Mother's Day. I'd put them in one of my dad's mason jar glasses and voila, instant gift.
Granted, my mom may not remember those bouquets as well as I do, because moms are supposed to accept trinkets and small gestures from their small children as if they are prized possessions. My dad usually managed something from us kids, and Mother's Day was usually a flurry of activity - go to Grandma Cleary's house, have a nice dinner, maybe BBQ out, etc. I honestly don't have many childhood memories of Mother's Day other than those darn bouquets.
Virginia Bluebells are perhaps my favorite flower. Yes, I love tulips and lilacs, hyacinths and hydrangeas, roses and Asiatic lilies, lavender, peonies, clematis, moonflowers and morning glories and asters - my taste has evolved over the years as I've started my own gardens.
However, the Virginia Bluebell holds significant meaning for me now. Like so many experiences in life, which we inevitably take for granted due to the hustle and bustle of our own worlds, the Bluebells only hang out for a very short time.
They grow in heavily shaded and moisture-rich areas, like my old backyard in Millington. There was an easement from our property to the cornfield behind us that was heavily wooded and very hidden from the sun. It was also at the bottom of a hill, which allowed for ample water drainage right down into the thick of it - where you would found bountiful Bluebells each spring. Delicate draping trumpets in lavender, violet and sky blue presented on large, green, leafy plants. (See picture.)
You had to be quite careful when picking these flowers. It wouldn't take much for the flowers to pop off the stem. So, in the clumsy hands of a five or six-year-old, it was good that there were hundreds of plants to pick.
I'd give the flowers to my mom, and then, over a very short period of time, the Bluebells would wilt and then dry out and then crumble at the slightest touch. Such a short lifespan for such a lovely, unsung flower. (The lilacs don't stay with us for very long either, but you can keep their fragrance going if you keep the branch thoroughly watered.)
I mention these flowers tonight because, as I was unloading the kids from the van after playschool, I noticed that the neighbor behind us has one lone clump of Bluebells growing. I hadn't expected to see them there, amongst his diesel engines and various other projects that he and (so it would seem) everyone is working on. I gasped because it's been so very long since I've seen my beloved Bluebells. And I took each child by the hand and showed to them the precious flower.
I'd have launched into an all-out nature lesson on the short life of the Bluebell, but both of the kids wanted to get inside to see our kitty visitor, Domingo. So, they were off and running thru the mud in their rainboots before I could really even say "Bluebell". Oh well, even kids are lost in their own worlds.
I call our daughter Lulubelle (or sometimes, Lubelle). I'm not sure where the name came from, but she's had it since she was months old. We made her a toychest, and we painted that name on the front of it. I'm as uncertain where Lucille/Lucy evolves into Lulubelle as I am where Margaret becomes a Peggy. But, no matter, that's her nickname (or, one of them -- the child may suffer an identity crisis because we picked a good name for lots of nickname opportunities).
One day, I called out to her "Lubelle!" when we were at the store. The woman beside me said "Bluebell? Is that her nickname? How sweet is that?"
That moment stuck with me, because I'm sure most people aren't used to hearing Lubelle. But it warmed my heart.
And now, when I refer to my daughter as Lubelle, I often think back to the reference of Bluebell. And sometimes, just for fun, I'll actually call her Bluebell.
And, like the flower that I love so much, the little girl that I love so much will all too soon be gone into her own world, her own life.
And that, my friends, is the reason that you really should stop to smell the Bluebells. :-)
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