Just thinking of the word "Peony" evokes a powerful memory of the senses. The sweet scent fills a hunger, the velvety touch of each petal is remembered. Even the awe of a tiny red haired child, amazed by the busyness of ants doing their work. Wonderment. Delight. A moment in time forever relivable, to grasp anytime I want. This was Grandma's backyard
And it doesn't stop there.
A Raspberry Tree always available to hide in the branches. Their scent is later in the summer. When the ground is covered with them rotting, the flies are everywhere drinking nectar. A trellis of deep red roses. I make perfume from its petals to sell in an imaginary shop. I flavor with vanilla the starchy insides of a plant referred to as "indian gum". I plant forget me not seeds - they never germinate.
I wonder is there power in child hood or powerlesness? I felt this tiny triangular plot of land as my domain. It was huge in my youth - now seemingly postage sized. Is it the change of my size from a tiny girl to an adult that changed its perspective? Or is it that my experiences have broadened my life so that my childhood space shrunk?
1 comment:
My best friend from childhood left me this email recently... I asked her if I could cut and paste.. from Sue:
I just read "Scent of Childhood" - boy did that bring back memories! Before I even started reading and just saw the picture it brought me back to my childhood on Olcott street. Yes I remember the raspberry tree and making Indian gum and perfume! Soo many memories I had forgotten about. Wasn't there also a nature club and an old boat in your grandmas yard, and once we found baby rabbits.
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