This morning the air smells like spring. It’s this distinct earthy, fecund smell that takes me back to so many a March of my childhood growing up on the river. I can still taste the metallic residue from pressing my chubby cheeks hard against the screen as I strained to watch the world around me wake up after a long winter. I can see myself in my pigtails sitting on the still chilled cement steps with a bowl chock-full of peanuts waiting for a courageous chipmunk. By the end of the summer, they’d all be eating out of my hand and the whole yard would be a sea of beautiful blooming buds. Irises in every color of the rainbow, tulips, roses, daffodils, forget me nots, peonies and pansies to name just a few. There were so many birds feasting at Mrs. Kay’s feeders all day long that their chirps and squawks became subtle background noise almost as soft as the summer’s breeze yet to come. I felt safe here in this little fenced in haven on the outskirts of the city on the banks of the lazy river.
A couple times a year, Mrs. Kay would pack a picnic lunch for my brother and me, and we all hiked through the woods in search of the perfect cool and loamy spot on which to rest. Once found, she’d spread out the red checked blanket and we'd settle in to eat cold fried chicken, fresh fruit and warm cookies. It was these times that we couldn't even fancy whether we were fairies and gnomes or kings and queens, but we felt the palpable magic and privilege in the fresh air that we breathed, and we both secretly wished that we could share every meal just this special way. We knew that we were forbidden from making the trek down to the river without our trusted guide. We only snuck down the paths solo a couple of guilty times. Mrs. Kay told us that it wasn’t safe for us to go alone, and we believed her because she adored us.
Can you even believe she came to love us as her own grandchildren? My parents moved into one of the cedar shaked, tidy houses on Mr. & Mrs. Kay’s property when I was a few weeks old. Mr. & Mrs. Kay never had children of their own and didn’t want someone else’s children upsetting the grounds or the critters so it was decided that we would need to move once I could walk. Then the agreement was amended to when I could run, and again to when my brother could walk, and it went on and on like that until my Mom decided it was time to move. Even then they tried to convince her to stay. They wanted us to stay despite the fact that we had grown into active kids who would traipse all through the yard playing hide and seek, statue maker and red rover red rover, tear up and down the driveway racing our big wheels and render ripe raspberry bushes fruitless in a few sneaky seconds. Over the years, we all came to think of each other as family. We came to know each other as not only friendly neighbors, but also connected kin.
Spring is in the air today and Mr. & Mrs. Kay are on my mind. I'm remembering them just as I always do when I get that first fertile whiff of this season of rebirth. This single powerful scent calls forth so many potent childhood memories. How is it so? It has to be true what they say about our sense of smell...it has to be our strongest sense.
A couple times a year, Mrs. Kay would pack a picnic lunch for my brother and me, and we all hiked through the woods in search of the perfect cool and loamy spot on which to rest. Once found, she’d spread out the red checked blanket and we'd settle in to eat cold fried chicken, fresh fruit and warm cookies. It was these times that we couldn't even fancy whether we were fairies and gnomes or kings and queens, but we felt the palpable magic and privilege in the fresh air that we breathed, and we both secretly wished that we could share every meal just this special way. We knew that we were forbidden from making the trek down to the river without our trusted guide. We only snuck down the paths solo a couple of guilty times. Mrs. Kay told us that it wasn’t safe for us to go alone, and we believed her because she adored us.
Can you even believe she came to love us as her own grandchildren? My parents moved into one of the cedar shaked, tidy houses on Mr. & Mrs. Kay’s property when I was a few weeks old. Mr. & Mrs. Kay never had children of their own and didn’t want someone else’s children upsetting the grounds or the critters so it was decided that we would need to move once I could walk. Then the agreement was amended to when I could run, and again to when my brother could walk, and it went on and on like that until my Mom decided it was time to move. Even then they tried to convince her to stay. They wanted us to stay despite the fact that we had grown into active kids who would traipse all through the yard playing hide and seek, statue maker and red rover red rover, tear up and down the driveway racing our big wheels and render ripe raspberry bushes fruitless in a few sneaky seconds. Over the years, we all came to think of each other as family. We came to know each other as not only friendly neighbors, but also connected kin.
Spring is in the air today and Mr. & Mrs. Kay are on my mind. I'm remembering them just as I always do when I get that first fertile whiff of this season of rebirth. This single powerful scent calls forth so many potent childhood memories. How is it so? It has to be true what they say about our sense of smell...it has to be our strongest sense.
