Lavender Girl

They sat on the dirt patches between the rows of blue and purple lavender. The English, Spanish, French, and Lavandin plants were grouped by type and planted in rows. I prefer the English type, but the girl seemed to gravitate toward the blooms of the rabbit-head Spanish lavender. Her hands gently swiped upward on the spikes as she giggled. Her mother tickled the girl’s nose with a piece; the girl exclaimed, “It smells so good, Mommy!” Pulling scissors from her pocket, she began cutting the stems, creating a small bouquet. When the girl spotted the pink lavender, she ran to the rows and sat behind the tallest plants, trying to hide.

I passed the “pick your own” sign and began creating my own bouquet, carefully selecting the stems with the brightest colors. The business owner led a tour of the garden and his drying barn, and everyone joined. The young girl watched and listened intently, her eyes darting wherever the owner pointed. When finished, he passed around dishes of newly harvested lavender that had been stripped from the stalks. Each type has a distinct fragrance, some stronger than others. The lavender’s oil and fragrance remained on our hands after we held it, letting it cascade back into the dish from our fingers. He led us to two-inch pots of each type and explained how he would plant them.

“How much do you water them?” She quietly asked her question in a whisper-like voice, holding her mother’s hand.

“We rarely water the rows of lavender. All they need is the occasional rain. Lavender doesn’t need much water; in fact, many people give the plants too much and they die of root rot.” The little one frowned, and he pulled some plants from the pockets of his overalls. “See how these roots are mushy and dark brown? The flowering part is all gray. You never want to see lavender turning yellow or gray.” He patted her dark curls and picked up a healthy lavender, displaying the difference.

Lavender bunches tied with twine hung from the rafters of the barn. A small cabin had a shop selling soap and body lotion products made from the plants. Samples of the lavender lemon cookies and lavender-flavored iced tea were available. My nose crinkled, and so did my little friend's, as we tasted the lavender. Our palates didn’t care for it, but others were exclaiming and setting aside what they would purchase. I winked at my small comrade, and she grinned at me.

“I didn’t like the taste. My favorite cookies are chocolate chip, followed by peanut butter,” I told her.

“It was very strong. I wouldn’t put lavender in my food,” she replied quietly, ensuring the clerks didn’t hear. “They have other cookies.” She pointed to a table near the back.

“Chocolate chip! Thanks!” I smiled broadly at her and asked her mother if they would like to share with me. She agreed, then ordered an espresso and 2 bottles of spring water. Her daughter ran to an outdoor table under an oak tree. The centerpiece was a carved wooden bowl filled with purple bacopa spilling over its sides, and a large pink lavender plant perfectly centered. We sat together, bumblebees humming busily among the plants, butterflies in yellow, white, and orange, contrasting with the purplish-blue lavender. The espresso lent a rich aroma to our table.

“Mommy, can I dip my cookie in your coffee?” She smiled and got a quick yes. “Don’t worry, I’ll do a fast dip. I know you don’t like smooshed cookie in your coffee.” I laughed with her mother.

“I love lavender, but it is a real bear to trim when it is done blooming,” I remarked to the mom. “Have a great day; thanks for sharing the table and cookies!”

“The man said you must not cut past the green on the stem, Mommy. Are we going to plant some?”

I waved at them on the way to my car and heard her mom tell her to pick out 2 plants to plant in a sunny location.

Copyright © 7/12/2026.  Andrea O. Corwin

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