What do lilacs smell like to you?

They smell like the backyard of my childhood home. 

Like our vegetable garden and the newborn-baby-sized zucchinis that came out of it.

Like the salmon I’d catch out of the Oshawa Creek. (Which we buried in that garden and may explain the gargantuan produce.)

Like the THUD! of a baseball against the side of our garage. And the hundreds, maybe thousands, of dents I put in the siding from years of pitching practice. 

And fishing with my best friend…fishing FOR my best friend.

He’d put on a snowsuit and lay in the backyard, while I pitched lures—with hooks—and tried to snag him. Then it was my turn. (Dumbasses.)

Lilacs also smell like my mom. Her smile, her innocence, her touch. The sound of her laughter, feeling safe.

She once told me the scent of lilac flowers was her favourite. We were at the cottage, wandering around in woods.

I remember it as one of those perfect summer days, with sunlight beaming through the trees and a light breeze whispering in our ears.

Yeah, lilacs smell like my cottage, too.

My dad, teaching me how to operate a boat, handle a gun, and fillet a fish.

The pair of loons wailing at dusk. One crying, “I’m here, my love.” Then the other, “I will always find you.”

Like the hard pull at the end of my line (for real this time).

My heart pounding after landing my first big walleye.

The anger raging after losing what I swear was the lake’s legendary moss-backed northern pike.

The taste of fresh-caught, beer-battered fish. With a squeeze of lemon and a pinch of salt, of course.

Lilacs smell like swimming with my cousins and jumping off the bluffs with my friends.

They smell like adventure, exploring the wilderness and growing up.

Like freedom.

But most of all, lilacs smell like home.

~

Hey, I’m Cory, Chief Smartass at Blue-Collar Copy & Consulting. I work with businesses who care about craft. If you want words that keep peepers peeled and pockets open, or a messaging strategy that you can actually use, hit me up.