My youngest daughter will be moving in July.
She’ll live on Hyacinth Road.
I remember the pink, blue, and white hyacinths that bloomed the spring after the fall when my dad planted 100 bulbs ordered directly from Holland. He was so excited. He carefully planned patterns of flowers around the pink dogwood tree so that when the dogwood was in bloom, the bulbs would also burst into color. I remember that spring so vividly. He was so happy and kept asking my sister and I to stand by the flowers and have our picture taken.
I could tell he also felt nostalgic for the time he spent in Holland in 1941, having been reassigned there when it was no longer safe in Munich, Germany. I wish I had asked him what season it was when he moved to Holland. Could he have seen the miles and miles of fields of flowers? The years 1939-1942 were the defining years of his life and laid the foundation not only for his career, but also for his spiritual life. His next assignment was Kentucky. His time in the “hollers” of Kentucky added another layer of richness to his appreciation of people and places.
The pink and blue and white hyacinths were the colors my mother always wore, mostly blue until she was 70. After that, she was more often drawn to pink. My mother always wore the soft, gentle colors that matched her quiet softness. That is not to say she lacked strength. Perhaps she, like the pink and blue hyacinths, had to have a resolute determination when placed next to King Arthur daffodils and scarlet tulips.
The fragrance of hyacinths shouts spring.
I can almost smell them now.