May 24, 2017 20°
Consider the (lilacs) of the field, how they grow. They don't toil, neither do they spin.
It's lilac season in The County. Which is not like lilac season in other places: The County is defined by its lilacs. Acres of them - in fields, along the roads, by the lake and streams. Huge, billowing, blooming groves of lilacs everywhere you look. And, happily for me, in my bee yard. Every year I look forward to seeing my hives nestled in the lilacs. The smell! The wonderful fragrance mixed with the heady aroma of gathering nectar, accompanied by the indescribable sound bees make during a nectar flow. I even painted my hives in shades of lilacs to prolong our lilac grove's 'gestalt' for the rest of the season.
But here's an interesting thing. Lilacs appear to have no particular purpose, as far as I can tell. They don't bear fruit. They don't work very well as cut flowers. They don't provide much in the way of nectar or pollen. In fact, because the apple and Canada plum bloom coincidentally with lilacs, the bees go out of their way to avoid the lilacs, flying around or high above the bushes to reach the fruit trees.
But in this practical agricultural community, beauty wins. People let lilacs block their view and spread through arable land. But no matter. Those few glorious weeks of heavenly bloom are enough.
