Happy Smell Memory

I passed through my kitchen this afternoon and suddenly I was transported back to being an eight year old girl. Growing up in Connecticut we had a meandering stream that flowed over rocks down a sloping hill to our big pond. After long cold Yankee winters the happiest time of year was when the thousands of daffodils that naturally propagated all along the stream and up the banks grew and bloomed. The sunny yellow faces and bright green foliage gave hope that winter was over, but the best part was the fresh smell that filled the air.

Those daffodils had been planted years before by a previous owners of our house. Since my parents did not plant them they never fussed at me when I would go and cut some to take to my favorite teachers at school. I could hardly make a dent in those flowers, but I was always careful to cut one flower from each grouping so that I could enjoy the hundreds of bunches of bulbs peppering the natural area of our property.

Carrying those beautiful smelling flowers on the school bus made that long ride not just bearable but memorable. So here I am almost fifty years later and as I catch the whiff of my jonquils I feel eight years old again, and happy! There is nothing better than a good smell memory.