The Sweet Smell of Summer

This morning I ran past a large honeysuckle bush and I hit it just as a slight breeze kicked up and the sweet smell form that bush made me want to stop and pull a couple flowers and suck on their stems. Which I suppose could have gotten me into trouble or at least some very strange looks from the few commuters heading off to work.


It is something about the smells around me that keep my mind in a constant state of nostalgia. The honeysuckle bush this morning sent my mind back about 25-30 years and our summers spent at the beach. It was a nice area. My mom could let me go off and ride my bike around the point and go to the playground. I spent warm days playing in the sand and taking boat rides with my dad. One summer we rented a small red cottage. It had linoleum floors throughout, which even to a seven year old it was not exactly "cozy". It had a screened porch that was off the kitchen and overlooked the backyard. There was another row of houses in front of that screened porch but beyond that was the beach. We had a sliver of a view from our yard. The yard also had huge boulders that were surrounded by honeysuckle bushes. My friend, Emily and I used to sit on those rocks and pluck the honeysuckle flowers and suck the juice right out of them. Those rocks were awesome you could leap from one to the other. When we came back from the beach I could warm myself on them like I was some kind of lizard instead of a tow headed, gangly kid.

The beach that was across the street was called East beach. It had lots of rocks but it had a dock you could jump and dive off of. I loved that dock. We would play match stick. Someone would throw a small matchstick into the water then jump on it and splash around like a drowning person hoping to make enough foam to keep the matchstick hidden. A group of kids would stand on the dock, eyes on the prize and then a scramble would happen as the matchstick was spotted. Over and over and over again we played. One evening my dad took me to the dock for a night swim. I remember he had a on pants and a windbreaker. I had on a bathing suit and blue lips. As a mom now I can just imagine that was something my father probably wasn't hopped up to do. I may have been relentless in my pursuit for the ultimate night swim and he may have just caved in. I don't remember. I do remember that swim and jumping into the dark water and swimming as fast as I could back to the dock before Jaws surfaced. It was thrilling.

I remember the group of women who would sit near us on Main Beach. One woman had an arm full of silver bangle bracelets. She was probably in her seventies then. She just looked ancient to me. She was crispy from all her sun exposure but there she was every day, sitting in her chair book on her lap, bangles glistening in the bright summer sun.

I remember our plaid cooler filled with grapes and peaches and sandwiches on rye bread with mustard. I remember my dad's sandals as we rode on the bike to the beach. They had a hard sole and made a solid plunk along the pavement, followed by the scrape of beach sand. I remember the brown bike with the rickety seat on the back and how I swayed to and fro as we rode around the point. I remember the six o'clock whistle that came from the fire station every night as we sat on the beach enjoying the best part of the day.

I remember playing War with two decks of cards with my mother and I remember the view of Kiddy Beach from our Burrows Street cottage. I remember the painting of the salmon struggling upstream and how lonely it made me feel. I remember outdoor showers and corn on the cob and rides on the carousel at Watch Hill and the thrill of catching the golden ring and winning a free ride.

All this I remember from the smell of that honeysuckle bush. Now if it could just help me remember where I left my keys....