No matter rain or shine, I grew up seeing my grandmother’s back. As a child, I would always stand behind her, as I watched the work of a miracle come true; her hands would work slowly and meticulously as she carefully pruned each bush and shrub. At the end of each harvest season, I would see a basket-full of bright purple in her grasp, in which the sweet aroma perfused through the air, and finally into our home. Eyes glued to the process, I never wanted these moments to end.

Peeking behind my grandmother’s back, I would rub the lavender plant between my two fingers before noticing the long lasting and sharp fragrance. It felt right that a flower as vibrant as lavender would have an equally strong scent. I always thought it was an appealing trait of lavender to have; the petals that are made up of deep purple, white, or blue contrasted well with the green upright stems holding them in place.

My grandmother’s back would appear when she was making dishes with the all-so-familiar hints of lavender, marigold, and chrysanthemum. These deep scents would be apparent in the delightful servings of lemongrass-lavender tea, and the occasional roasted chicken. Behind my grandmother’s back, I’ve learned my way through her traditional methods of cooking and gardening. Somehow, her favorites would become mine, and my favorites would become hers.

What once started off with scenes of my young self running around the backyard with giggles floating in the air, turned into moments where I now stand next to my grandmother as we both enjoy our time picking flowers together.