The Smells of Childhood

There is a country song out right now about melody being a memory. Odor is also a strong memory. Tuesday, as my boys and I walked through the halls of a local public school, I commented that it smelled like a school. The odor of disinfectant, tile and concrete block, and stale air hung heavy in my nostrils.

The lunch did not appeal to me, especially since I can remember such pleasant odors emanating from my own childhood schoolhouse. Mrs. Bolyard and Mrs. Beavers made wonderful homemade foods.  Breakfasts of fresh cooked oatmeal or cinnamon rolls welcomed me to school in the mornings. About an hour before lunch I could smell the fresh pepperoni rolls and boiling tomato soup. It was difficult to focus on math problems as the warm odors made my stomach growl.

Several days ago my husband helped me (actually he did most of the work) to mark off an assignment on my summer to-do list. I wanted to restring the wire on the grape arbor and try to get it tied back up. After we did that I picked the ripening Concord grapes. And that is when I was once again transported back to my childhood.

I could smell the sweetness on my fingers, and instantly I remembered plucking grapes off the vine as I played under the arbor in our backyard. The thick skin of the first sour, then sweet, fruit would make me pucker, but I kept eating. I played house under that arbor, hiding beneath the shady leaves as my imaginary friends came to tea. Funny how a walk down memory lane means you just have to follow your nose.