I love freesias. I bought a bunch over a week ago and they have opened up and my bedroom smells all sweet and peppery.
They remind me of growing up in Sydney with a big back yard of many levels of garden to explore. There was an odd mix of scraggly natives, azaleas and even a pine tree smuggled in from the motherland....but the best part? During spring the ground was awash with freesias, just growing wildly on their own. Their sweet scent filling the air like magic and a sign that winter was gone.
They remind me of Boulevard St Germain and a trip to Paris which was a lifetime ago. Wandering around the left bank (the Latin Quarter?), cocktails in smokey bars, bistro lunches and shopping for my favourite perfume. Now looking back - the start of what was to end in heartbreak, though I still wear the perfume to this very day.
They remind me of recent conversations at the farmers markets where we talked about flowers, herbs and garden plans. And stories of me growing up with wild freesias and you, with your memories of childhood holidays in a country far away.
They remind me of my kind, thoughtful and gentle friend who was with me when I bought them on that freezing cold, grey day.
They remind me how my memory works - connecting unremarkable events that when considered all together, tell a story of things I'm sure others would have forgotten.