Sweet Scent Memories Still Exist

This week I was reading two novels that mentioned sweet scent memories. They were extra special because I have the same memory, my father’s Old Spice after shave. Yet, as sweet as this memory is, there is a sweeter one. The aroma of cherry pipe tobacco smoke.

First Seeds of a Memory

At just two weeks old, I didn’t retain full memories, but these early weeks were when my bond with my father formed. It was the time between Christmas and New Year’s, when I imagine Dad had received the special cherry pipe tobacco as a Christmas gift, perhaps from my mother.

Mom was dealing with two baby girls in diapers and asked for help from her husband, my father. Although he put in long days as a farmer, an orange grove caretaker, he was happy to help with me. I was an easy baby; no colic, no difficulty taking a bottle.

I have a visual memory of a photo of my tiny self, propped on my father’s thighs as he holds my bottle in one hand and cradles his pipe in the other, smoke tendrils winding heavenward. He’s dressed in a white Hane’s t-shirt and still has on his work pants as he props himself against the wall behind the master bed.

How Specific is Scent Memory?

Sweet scent memories are very specific for me. I don’t care for all pipe smoke, only cherry pipe tobacco will do. How specific are your scent memories? I’ll bet they are very specific too. Is it cinnamon raisin bread baking, whole wheat or white bread in the oven?

Do you take action to expose yourself to your sweet scent memory? I sure did. Near the end of my Dad’s life he still occasionally smoked a pipe. He preferred Captain Jack in the gold pouch. And I always bought his preference, but I’d pick up a bag of cherry tobacco, hold it close to my face and take a big breath in. I think it brought me back to my two-week old self, securely cradled in my Dad’s lap, my tummy full of nourishment.

Books That Take You Down Memory Lane

The two books that stirred my memories this week were Tiger Drive by Teri Case and Stillwater by Mary Jo Hazard. Tiger Drive depicted a very different life than my own, but I identified with seventeen-year-old Carrie in many ways. Teri built her characters fully, giving me plenty of reason to care about the Sloan family. I highly recommend it.

Stillwater took place in a small town in upstate New York, during the approximate time of my childhood. The twelve-year-old characters in Stillwater spent a lot of time in activities my sister, cousins, and I enjoyed; playing in clubhouses or trees, riding our bicycles, and listening in on grown-up conversations. Both these books took me on a trip down my own memory lane. And isn’t that what books should do? They allow your own sweet scent memories to waft in and around the words on the page.

Are you reading a book that stirs your memories? I’d love to hear about it. Leave a comment below or email me. Better yet, signup for my newsletter and we can have a weekly conversation.

Onto the next book,
Dawn

Last Walk in the Yard

One week ago today, our thirteen-year-old Brittany, Dubba, took his last walk in the yard. The decision to end the suffering of a beloved pet is hard, very hard. Carrying out that decision is a burden shared by many. This article is in appreciation for Dubba and the love he showed me, once he got to know me.

A Sporting Life

I’m a supporter of rescue dogs and my life before Wayne has included many. In contrast, Dubba was bred to point birds, specifically quail. He was a master of his craft, teaching many young Brittany pups the art of trailing the scent, pinpointing the hidden location, and then standing stock still until released by the bird taking flight.

Once the hunter brought down the bird, Dubba retrieved it carefully with a ‘soft mouth’, responding to the call of his master, my husband, Wayne. I traipsed behind the hunters one cool Spring morning and watched the symphony of man, dog, and quail in a field, dotted with palmetto islands.

Wild quail hunting is a thing of the past, their natural habitat replaced by housing tracts with cement walls and names like, “Quail Trail Preserve”. Now there are quail breeders and quail brokers. Wayne or his friend, Fred, purchase the birds right before the hunt and place them in the field. When I first saw this, I was taken a back. Consequently, I understand and appreciate the joy of our Brittanys when they are on the hunt.

A Man and His Dog

The bond between Wayne and Dubba was deep, born when Dubba was born in the same home Wayne and I now share. I’ve know Dubba four years. At first he was a bit intimidating. Within a few months, he was seeking me out, rubbing his head against my thigh.

Although Wayne had hopes of breeding our puppy, Sugar, with Dubba, that never happened. Dogs have preferences too. Dubba did not care for Sugar. I breathed a sigh of relief. The thought of raising puppies kept me up nights.

Many years ago, Dubba was a house dog, like his sister, Marilyn and Sugar are today. Dubba, however, insisted on marking his territory inside the house. He received his own house in the yard with an elevated, enclosed and covered area, front entrance, and steps down to the cool cement floor of his spacious kennel. Soon after, a lost, injured American Bulldog found Wayne in Georgia on a deer hunting trip. After diligent efforts to find the Bulldog’s owners failed, Wayne named her Daisy, and brought her home to live with Dubba.

Dogs Have Feelings Too

Wayne and I were worried about Daisy’s reaction to the absence of her friend, Dubba. At first, she was very subdued; barking and eating less, sleeping more. We’ve given Daisy extra tummie rubs, more exercise and attention. She is responding well and seems as happy as she was before. Wayne and I feel better too.

Life Moves On

For all of you who experienced your dog’s last walk in the yard, I feel your pain. I also feel your warm memories of sloppy dog kisses, endless games of fetch, and tender moments. Goodbye dear friend, Dubba.

Love,
Dog Mama Dawn

Perspective Changes Everything

As I noticed the swallowtail caterpillars devouring my parsley over three days, it reminded me how perspective changes everything. In my early gardening days, I always picked off caterpillars. After all, they were another pest in my garden. The connection between a caterpillar and the beautiful butterfly wasn’t solid in my mind until I studied biology in junior high school.

Who Doesn’t Love Butterflies

My first reaction at seeing the yellow and green striped caterpillars was, “Yes, finally!!” I was overjoyed to have caterpillars on my parsley. Although I planted it for my consumption, I also expected the eastern black swallowtail butterflies visiting nearby Pentas, to lay a few eggs on one of their favorite larval plants, parsley. I consciously invited these little caterpillars to my herb table.

Nature works in concert to keep the natural order in check. Birds eat insects when they are plentiful, lady beetles eat aphids when they explode and I pick off caterpillars when there are more than my parsley can survive.

I call this being a steward of my garden. With the help of my dog, Sugar, we removed most of the caterpillars from my parsley, leaving seven of the largest ones to mature into adults.

From One Animal to the Next

When I visited the parsley this morning in hopes of finding a pupae, I was horrified to find a multitude of snails instead. Snails and slugs can decimate a garden of tender plants like parsley. I set about picking them off the bare stems and breaking their shells against the terra cotta pot. Yes, I can be brutal in my garden.

Soon I realized there were too many of them to exterminate by hand. Quickly I headed to the storage building where I have a corner for all my friendlier pest deterrents. I rummaged around until I found the well hidden Garden Safe Slug and Snail Bait. After reading the instructions, I decided to apply right then.

Conclusion

My interest in my garden is diverse.
I love the plants.

  • seeing the shapes, contrast, or colors
  • inhaling the aroma of my white flowers
  • eating their fruit
  • feeling the softness or hardness of their leaves
  • admiring individual plants and carefully arranged groups

I love the birds and butterflies.

  • hawks announcing their territory at the top of a tree
  • red cardinals chirping and hummingbirds finding nectar
  • sandhill cranes flying over with their clear rattle calls
  • Gulf fritillary butterflies emerging on the maypop
  • the first zebra longwing attracted to the native firebush

I admire the circle of life in nature.

  • swallowtail caterpillars devouring my parsley
  • Vermin eating fallen fruit, corn snakes eating the vermin
  • bald eagles diving for fish in the lake
  • alligators capturing fish or turtles in its jaws
  • man hunting the alligator, eating the tail meat, tanning the hide

All my life, judgement is with me, keeping me safe by warning me the stove was hot, sometimes reducing my happiness when I judged or felt the sting of judgement from others. My pain from judgement brings tears as I write this, tears for me and for all those I judged. What is left after letting go is forgiveness, love, and caring.

My hope for you is appreciation, understanding how perspective changes everything, letting go, and love for all, especially yourself.

Warmly,
Dawn