Memories
You know when you're somewhere and you hear something or smell something, and you're all of a sudden transported back to a certain happy memory?
Yeah. That's been happening a lot to me lately.
For instance, today, as I was standing out in the middle of the strawberry field, the sweet smell of hay swirled in the sticky heat of the morning ... and I was transported to the days of Swim Lessons at the Skrocki's. They lived out in the country, right across the road from a good sized dairy farm, and I remember those hot, humid days filled with the scent of hay.
My mom made us go to swim lessons every summer, not that it was much of a sacrifice for me. I LOVED swim lessons. I could have lived in the water full-time, if my parents would have let me. Every time I drive past a field with hay, the sweet smell sends me back to the Skrocki's pool, and I'm 11 years old once more.
Plucking the juicy strawberries, and occasionally popping a few in my mouth, I was reminded of my mom's words: "We're here to pick strawberries not eat them. You need to pick more than your're eating."
She said that to me when we picked green beans as well. I wonder if she regretted dragging me along on those excursions, but I did learn a lot about organic food. There isn't anything better in this world that a bowl full of fresh from the field strawberries. Nature's Sugar Candy!
Watering my plants in my yard and smelling the damp, wet ground reminds me of the hot summer days spent running through the sprinkler, squealing partly from delight ... partly from the ice cold water squirting from that old rusty oscillating sprinkler.
The smell of lilacs always take me back to my bedroom on Bennett Street ... the room with a view, overlooking our dear, sweet neighbor, Mr. Averill's yard. His wife was quite the gardener, and she filled their corner lot with all varieties of lilacs, roses and flowers. Going to bed while it was still light out was much more palatable when the heavy scent of lilacs floating through that old bedroom window.
Ahhh ... the memories ...
Yeah. That's been happening a lot to me lately.
For instance, today, as I was standing out in the middle of the strawberry field, the sweet smell of hay swirled in the sticky heat of the morning ... and I was transported to the days of Swim Lessons at the Skrocki's. They lived out in the country, right across the road from a good sized dairy farm, and I remember those hot, humid days filled with the scent of hay.
My mom made us go to swim lessons every summer, not that it was much of a sacrifice for me. I LOVED swim lessons. I could have lived in the water full-time, if my parents would have let me. Every time I drive past a field with hay, the sweet smell sends me back to the Skrocki's pool, and I'm 11 years old once more.
Plucking the juicy strawberries, and occasionally popping a few in my mouth, I was reminded of my mom's words: "We're here to pick strawberries not eat them. You need to pick more than your're eating."
She said that to me when we picked green beans as well. I wonder if she regretted dragging me along on those excursions, but I did learn a lot about organic food. There isn't anything better in this world that a bowl full of fresh from the field strawberries. Nature's Sugar Candy!
Watering my plants in my yard and smelling the damp, wet ground reminds me of the hot summer days spent running through the sprinkler, squealing partly from delight ... partly from the ice cold water squirting from that old rusty oscillating sprinkler.
The smell of lilacs always take me back to my bedroom on Bennett Street ... the room with a view, overlooking our dear, sweet neighbor, Mr. Averill's yard. His wife was quite the gardener, and she filled their corner lot with all varieties of lilacs, roses and flowers. Going to bed while it was still light out was much more palatable when the heavy scent of lilacs floating through that old bedroom window.
Ahhh ... the memories ...
Comments