Spring violets

When I was a little girl, spring meant violets. My grandmother lived in a small hamlet in the country, and I would usually visit her at the weekend. I loved staying at her place, especially in summer, when she would let me go out on my own and wander around the dusty lanes on my Grandfather’s bicycle. I have many fond memories of my wanderings, and so have my knees…

If I think of spring, however, the first thing that comes to mind is the purple of wild violets, and their delicious smell. In the afternoon, after she had done the washing up and cleaned the kitchen, Grandma would ask me if I wanted to go out and look for violets.

We strolled in the fields, and kept our eyes peeled for the elusive little flowers; they grew mostly along ditches, in small clusters, and every time I saw one I squealed with joy and hurried to gather the precious violets.

We usually walked for a couple of hours, and if we were lucky at the end I would be the proud owner of a small, round posy of wild violets – a cherished gift for my mother, or sometimes for my primary school teacher.

Today it was sunny in Dublin and it really felt like spring, so I bought myself a few violets to plant in the garden; they are not wild violets, but they still remind me of the beautiful times spent with my Grandmother, so… they will do.