Isn’t it strange how our minds are curiously affected on rainy days and we seem to go to different places and different times… here in the rain I’m thinking of lavender and what it would be like in a field of it (the smell of lavender…how do you even describe it?), and my grandmother’s dresser drawers with lavender sachets (sweet little pouches of dried lavender in muslin or linen hidden beneath her very neatly folded clothes), my niece’s wedding last September on the Chesapeake Bay where the bridal party carried bundled stems of it wrapped in satin ribbon, so simple and elegant, and a trip to Sonoma Valley where there was so much of it all around me, and I remember reaching down to touch the tips so that I could smell that smell that I love because it was one of those times when I was so happy to be away but also longing for home, and isn’t that a good way to describe the smell of lavender—happy and sad at the same time—isn’t it just like that?