Lilac

What is unusual about the lilac?

It is merely a flowering bush that grows in the midwest and blooms every May without any nurturing. It has a fragrance that some of us find intoxicating. Others find it a sinus headache. I find it evocative of childhood, a rural childhood in a one-room school more than 70 years ago.

La Prairie School district number 9 was the center of our universe in Southwest Iowa. It was a minimum facility venue—as described by modern standards. The frontage was defined by a lilac bush that started by the south gate post and it continued for 50 feet, rambling south and east down the front bank and back across the fence into the school yard. The main trunk was thick and strong and it branched out and umbrella-ed down. It produced “suckers”(sprouts) that grew up along the root wherever it rambled. This made ample room for us to trample down “rooms” inside the bush where we played house, school, store, office, or bank—what ever make-believe we could conjure up. And when the bush flowered, our playhouse was a fairy-land of delight.

The room I opted to have was at the far north end of the bush. We trampled down an entry hall from the gatepost ending at the trunk of the bush. There the hall made a circle around the trunk, and rooms were crafted around that circle

My room was on the north. The next room was on the east where the bank caved off and made a two-story room, the top room and the room in the road ditch. Then there was the south room where the sprouts were sparser, and the west room, which bordered on the brick-work of the storm cave. This generally was the room that became the store and goods were sold over the cave roof counter.

We argued endlessly over who had the best accommodations, and bargaining, sometimes violent, was often apparent. Tattle-taling was common, and bullying was standard practice. Rooms were at a premium. Sharing rooms was not the optimum, and older kids got the spaces considered prime. I had to work up to that north room, and then “fix it up” to be the envy of the littler kids.

Fixing up a lilac bush room started with smoothing down the floor by trampling and packing the dirt. Then I pulled soft grass from the school-yard and carried bales of it to the room. There I made carpeting every day. Thick green carpet spread from wall to wall (perhaps 3 square feet) and was floor, and the thicker pile of grass was a bed. I scrounged through the trash to find disposed-of light bulbs, which I tied to the upper branches. Old ink-bottles became vases for violets. I lived in high style for sure.

Lowell was grocer and supplied his store with cobs and boxes. Sometimes he had discarded cans and bottles found on the road to school, and besides he knew where people’s trash was dumped and brought us treasures to barter from garbage. He sang commercials from the radio to enhance his retail business. “Super Suds, Super Suds! Wash your duds in Super Su-uh-uds.“ We had to pick plantain leaves for dollar bills to buy our needs. We had a few bottle caps for coins, but pop was a scarce commodity in our area so coins were few. Plantain, meanwhile was ubiquitous.

It was a sad day when even the other girls preferred to play our version of baseball with the boys, instead of lilac bush activity. We couldn’t take books outdoors so reading in solitude in the lilacs was frowned upon. And I couldn’t make the others realize that the blossoms wouldn’t last but a week or two. One had to bask in them in season. And at home, my family couldn’t abide the scent without sinus headache. The lilac bush was a treasure all year long, but that week in May was heaven. The first scent of lilac on the spring breeze, sends me to looking for light bulbs and soft grass.

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