The mix of rain drops and lilacs- intoxicating. It was this scent, the scent of the lilacs that carried me home on a wet spring day in Southern Utah. My car took me "there" and to the lilacs. Every spring, I built a fort under the lilacs and spent nearly everyday after school in my own "never, never land."
It had been 19 years since I stepped foot on that front porch- 19 years. What a strange feeling it was to knock on the door of the house that I called home for 23 years. I wanted fresh lilacs for my table, but not any fresh lilacs, my fresh lilacs. Lilacs from 116 North 200 East. Of course I needed the owner's permission.
I approached the doorsteps with trepidation. I wasn't really sure I wanted to actually meet the person that lived in the home that housed my entire collection of childhood memories.
I knocked. She was not quite the person I would have chosen for my little red brick house- a female version of the neighborhood legend, "Homicide Chuck." She even had a dog in the house- this will kill my mom.
I hope she hears our echoes. The echoes made by the seven children who grew up under the elm trees and played in the lilacs. It was those very lilacs that served as the home run line for our front yard baseball games. There was a game there everyday!
2nd East had its treasures- its people- Ike Nelson, the Cossletts, Suzy and Zona, Peggy and Cordon Walker, Hugh Cheever, Annie Mcdonald, Daisy Sorenson, Elvyn and Venetta Webster, George and Ada Jones, Alta and Sid Porter, Emil and Thora Roundy, Lois Mconnell, Blanche and Henry Dotson, Dell and Edith Slack, Kay and Lajean Knell, and Mel and Ila Murie.
2nd East was my paradise. Its wide street, vacant lots, alleys, tall grass, dirt clods, and abandoned barn created the backdrop for my childhood adventures.
Only Dell and Edith Slack remain. But like the lilacs, they wont linger much longer. Thankfully, my memories and the scent of the lilacs will.
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