We had one of those warm spring days yesterday, so I went out to the garden looking for lily of the valley pips. These lilies were originally in my mother’s garden, and they’ve done some traveling in the 20 plus years I’ve had them.

Mom gave me lily stock to plant in my rock garden at my then new home in Pennsylvania. When we moved back to Manchester three years ago, I brought some of that stock with me to plant here. So they’ve come almost full circle, now growing just a few blocks from where they originally started.

They always flower around my mother’s birthday, which also happens to be close to Mother’s Day. The flowering is one of the times I think of my mother. She loved gardening and had an extensive garden-albeit a bit rambling-in our backyard. She was always puttering out there, and planted helter skelter whatever bargain she happened to buy or whatever someone gave her.

She never read a book about gardening’s fine points, just followed her instincts. She loved to take anyone who visited on a tour of her garden, whether they wanted to tour or not. She would talk about what was growing there, or complain about what failed to grow. And like the patch of lilies she gave me, she gave others what she tired of or thinned out.

Lilies of the valley grow from rhizomes-long, thin, horizontal growing, roots. The tuber has buds, called pips, which grow up as two wide bladed leaves and a stalk from which hang richly fragrant, bell shaped flowers. The ones my mother gave me were pink, a cultivated sort with the botanical name Convallaria rosea. I treasure them, not only because Mom gave them to me, but because they are less common than the white.

I’ve loved these flowers since I was a girl. I used to walk to and from school each day and along the way I passed a mansion. Near the mansion by the side of the road grew a large, wild area of these woodland natives mostly found in northern climates all over the world. At the first sign of spring, I would glance each time I passed to see if the pips were showing.

When the flowers finally bloomed, I would pick a sprig and swipe it under my nose to take in the smell all the way back home. It’s a favorite fragrance at many of the perfume houses too. The bottled smell can cost a little or plenty, depending on who is bottling it and where. A quick check on the Web shows an Italian perfumer selling it at $40 for a 1.7 ounce bottle, but give it a French name-Muguet du Bois-and a 1.5 ounce bottle of cologne costs $55. As a teen, I bought lily of the valley cologne at the five and dime store for $2 or $3.

On May first, Labor Day in France, it is tradition to offer these flowers as a good luck charm for friends and loved ones. Lily of the valley has been Finland’s national bloom for 42 years. It is also a favorite crest or coat of arms for many families and societies. Symbolically the flower means sweetness, a return to happiness and humility.

Lily of the valley goes by many other names including “May lily,” “ladder to heaven” and “May bells.” It is also called “our lady's tears,” because legend says when Mary’s tears fell to the ground at her son’s crucifixion, lilies of the valley grew up from the spot. A similar tears- turned- to- flowers legend refers to Eve after she was driven from the Garden of Eden.

Over the years, these small tubers can become an unruly patch. They may smell divine, produce great perfume and have national or religious meanings, but the entire plant is toxic. You’ll experience a health crisis if you eat this plant. It affects a person’s whole body, including the eyes, stomach, heart and nervous system.

This downside of the lilies also reminds me of my mother. While we got along for much of the time-I lived elsewhere for most of my life, and that was probably why!-we would have an occasional spat. With the cold passing of time and a few sunny phone calls, the storm would pass. We’d be talking again.

My mother died five years ago in August. I know these mother daughter quarrels sometimes happened, but I no longer remember the cause. What I most remember, especially in mid May, is the happiness I feel when I see my mother’s floral legacy blooming.

By Pauline Pinard Bogaert ,Master Gardener