No, not the song. I am talking about the memories that certain smells evoke. No, not the one where Dad says, "Pull my finger!" I think we all have that one somewhere in our past---a Dad, brother, uncle, Grandpa...but always a guy. The men just seem to master control of muscles and body functions that we girls would never think of!
I've gotten back into the somewhat daily routine of walking with Belle and it is Autumn is Georgia. The leaves are starting to fall and they are beautiful in their death robes of crimson, brilliant orange, and yellow. Of course, Belle has more primitive urges to take care of while I contemplate God's beauty in Nature...smell that mailbox, squirrel!, smell that ditch, squirrel!, oh look-another dog, grrrr!
AS I walk along, I can pick out scents that I can see no evidence of. The air smells not just of freshly mowed grass and back-yard grills, but radishes, sweet peas, carrots, onions, corn husks all jumbled together. Then FLASH, I am back in Dad's garden, weeding, helping harvest, pulling up a carrot, wiping the dirt on my jeans, and taking a big bite with a huge smile on my face.
That was in north Moorhead (MN.) in the corner of the backyard. I thought our garden was huge until I got a little older and we were living on the old Cook farmstead south of Fargo (N.D.) and we had a whole pasture at our disposal. First we used a little piece of it, which grew each year...then started to dwindle down again as we kids got older and weren't around as much.
I sure miss the garden and I sure miss my Dad. I think about him so often, and especially in the Fall when the air is so rich with the scents that seemed to cling to him. Do you smell that smell? Isn't it glorious!?!
I've gotten back into the somewhat daily routine of walking with Belle and it is Autumn is Georgia. The leaves are starting to fall and they are beautiful in their death robes of crimson, brilliant orange, and yellow. Of course, Belle has more primitive urges to take care of while I contemplate God's beauty in Nature...smell that mailbox, squirrel!, smell that ditch, squirrel!, oh look-another dog, grrrr!
AS I walk along, I can pick out scents that I can see no evidence of. The air smells not just of freshly mowed grass and back-yard grills, but radishes, sweet peas, carrots, onions, corn husks all jumbled together. Then FLASH, I am back in Dad's garden, weeding, helping harvest, pulling up a carrot, wiping the dirt on my jeans, and taking a big bite with a huge smile on my face.
That was in north Moorhead (MN.) in the corner of the backyard. I thought our garden was huge until I got a little older and we were living on the old Cook farmstead south of Fargo (N.D.) and we had a whole pasture at our disposal. First we used a little piece of it, which grew each year...then started to dwindle down again as we kids got older and weren't around as much.
I sure miss the garden and I sure miss my Dad. I think about him so often, and especially in the Fall when the air is so rich with the scents that seemed to cling to him. Do you smell that smell? Isn't it glorious!?!
