Ohhh! I mentioned in an earlier blog how much I love lilacs. Because of our strange spring weather, the timing of plant life seems to be on catch-up mode. The lilac bushes have been stuttering with random blossoms, so I try to find even tiny clusters for a sniff before they are gone. I was mowing our yard and decided to take the riding mower down into a swampy area that has been too wet to cut. I wasn’t sure if I would discover the Minnesota version of the La Brea Tar Pits or emerge in one, albeit muddy, piece. As I was cautiously moving forward, brush and wild raspberry canes slapped at my face and legs. (No, I wasn’t cutting and killing the natural berry producers, just the ground formally known as a path. Honest.) As I was doing this cool ninja choreography of steering, pushing barbed branches away from already slashed skin, and trying to see how deep the tires were in muck, I noticed a beacon beckoning me. A few feet in, amidst the bramble, stood a wild lilac bush heavy with fragrant flowers. “For me?” I said to the wilderness. The surprise of finding it left me very, very happy. Scratched, but happy. It was the best part of my day.