I said, "Yes."
"Then what do you call this," he asked as he pointed to the floor.
I resisted answering with something trite like, "home is where the heart is," so I just said, "home."
That got him and his sisters thinking, and me too. Once a place is your home, once your roots are there, it will always be home no matter how many places you re-plant yourself. Sure, it is about the people that are in the place you call, "home," but I think there is something to the dirt too.
I love the way everyone at home smiles a friendly greeting whether they recognize you or not. I love the way people at home say, "hello." I love the way farmers wave from the truck or the tractor by raising one finger from the steering wheel and giving a nod of the head, or even sometimes, a tip of the hat. I love all of these things.
Without them, I would still love the way the air hits my memory because it is mixed with the dust from the fields, exhaust from tractors, smells of cut hay, pollen, and echoes of children playing or a cow giving birth.
My daughter asked, "can I call East Eden, ´home,´too?"
I said, "I hope so."
Olfactory Memories of East Eden
hay silage turned over after a long summer
rain
pony’s
breath warm with the scent of grain
pitchfork striking in the straw/horse manure
autumn chill running down the spine reassures
leaves succumbing to wet and worms
running back home before the skies turn
saw dust flying as walnut boards go tumbling
barn door creaking on its hinges: crumbling
snow sucked from mittens of wool
sight
of the stars from the snow on the hill
chimney
smoke commingled in fog
sound of the axe splitting a log
strawberries rotting soft and hot
sound of her yelling, “Do not!”
bark
peeled back from and old dead stump
beetle
climbing across the leaf dump
film on the pond thick and greening
sound of the fishing line careening
milk
and soap washing down the floor drain
view
from the milkhouse through the broken window pane
So
one little smell in a faraway place, can bring a person around
To a
memory of a different type: sight, touch or sound.
See you in East Eden!
(c) 2016 Cathy Lynn
