Do some smells trigger in you an immediate connection to another time and place? One for me is always the first smell of burnt leaves in fall. Even after 30 years, that smell puts me smack in the middle of my front yard, 12 or 13 years old, living on Selfridge Air National Guard Base in Mt. Clemens, MI. I was probably raking the leaves in that big old yard — no wonder I have an attachment.
I hadn't thought much about other triggers for memory until I was speaking on the phone yesterday to my friend and client Karen Schumacher, who lives in Husser, LA. She makes wonderful candles you'll be dying to buy in about two months... :)
Karen is blessed to live in the country with her husband Hank, where they operate the Bald Cypress Cattle Company and her business, Heirloom Candles. As four of her 10 grandchildren live on the farm with them, it was no surprise to have Dusty, one of her older grandsons, answer the phone when I called. He used the “kid intercom” to reach Karen--meaning he hollered out the door for her to come inside and talk to me.
As she entered the house, I heard it: a sound that brought back so many memories for me from my grandparents' house in Louisiana where we spent most summers that it took my breath away: the creaking spring of an old-fashioned screen door.
That sound means to me:
Golden Guernsey ice cream from Kleinpeter Dairy, literally yellow with creamy deliciousness. Topped with honey, it was the official harbinger of summer.
Sitting in my grandparents' kitchen sink watching the birds feed at the bird feeder with my grandfather, Ginny. He could identify every type of bird AND whistle its call. No wonder I thought he was the coolest grandpa ever.
Smelling the Community Coffee "fresh-o-lator" full of dark roasted grounds. In Louisiana, most kids are started on coffee in their toddlerhood and I was no different. Even today if I buy another brand I feel guilty.
Catching green garden lizards with my brothers and seeing if we could get them to bite and hang on our earlobes like earrings.
Climbing in my grandparents' fig tree and eating those luscious purple fruits 'til we were sick. And then doing it again the next summer.
My grandmother, Maggie, has been gone for many years now--she died when I was in college. My grandfather, now almost 98, met precious Eddie and had another 18 years of happiness with her after Maggie died. When I was in Louisiana last week on business, I went to see Ginny, and it was bittersweet. He is in a wheelchair now, his skin almost translucent with age. He always tells me he's tired, and that he's not supposed to still be here, when my mom is out of the room. Let me tell you, there's nothing appropriate you can say to that, to a man who's played thousands of hands of poker, caught probably about a million fish, lost two wives and countless friends, and seen at least six wars in his lifetime. He's lived. A lot.
So maybe, when I heard Karen's screen door creak, that was God giving me my grandpa back in all his vigor one last time. Because creaky screen doors now mean a cardinal's flashing brightness, a damn good cup of coffee, and Louisiana summers with my grandpa. And those memories will never grow old.
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