One of my favorite childhood memories is picking lavender out of the pots that lined my grandmother's walkway at the beach. That walkway was made entirely of crushed seashells. You could hear the crunch of the shells with every step. We would pick from overflowing pots of lavender and hang the sprigs upside-down to dry. Grana would pull freshly washed cotton sheets off the line and tuck dried lavender into them before we made up the beds. If joy had its own special scent... this would be it!
