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| Once in a while, when I am alone, my thoughts drift and fade back into the recessed hiding places where my memories are safely stored. Sweet scented memories of my childhood and life experiences, are forever suspended in my mind for instant recall. No matter how distant the scene, it can once again bring the joys of childhood, just as it did back then. Sometimes I long for things to be just as they were back then, when life was just beginning like fresh fallen snow and anything could be written on it. As a young girl, I grew up in a small town in Ohio. It was called Worthington, a beautiful town just North of Columbus. A New England name given after the settlers that moved there from New Hampshire. The city was mostly run by volunteers, who worked hard to retain its look. It had everything you ever needed. There was always something exciting to do no matter what season it was. I never got bored of doing the same things over again. Autumn was my favorite season. The weather would get warm and sunny during the days and cool at night. I still remember my high school days waiting at the bus stop basking in autumn sunshine. The air, sun and the earth gave a distinct scent. Its fragrance still lingers in the room of my mind. Every fall the wooded landscape received a new coat of brilliant colors. Our family used to go for long drives on weekends to enjoy this foliage. It was a breathtaking view. You could see the willow trees, the hickory, maple, oak and cider wearing blankets of colorful leaves in hues of yellow, deep orange, fiery red and bronzes. Ohio is nicknamed the Tree State of the U.S. At least 30% of the state is covered with trees. No wonder it had the best foliage on the entire East Coast. Our favorite pastime was hiking at Pleasant Hill valley. After long walks down the mountain we used to stop at Malabar State Farm. It belonged to a famous native writer Louis Broomfield, who donated his land to the township. His house was converted into a museum and a library and the land into a farm to grow sweet corn, maple and cider. There was a little restaurant nearby called Malabar Inn. They made the best biscuits and gravy. An American biscuit is different from the English one. The best way I can describe it is that it tastes like a bun, only fluffier, softer and sweeter. The way to eat the biscuit is to break the bun, add some butter and then the gravy. It tastes delicious. A warm cup of hot apple cider and you\'re in heaven.  Around October, the weather gets cold, the days get shorter and nights longer. That meant only one thing-Halloween. A time to ransack the chest and shoebox, go through the attic trying to come up with a costume idea. But before we did that it was time to harvest. This is the one time in the year to enjoy the best pumpkin pie, sweet corn and yams. Once again our town got together to create the biggest pumpkin pie and harvest the biggest pumpkin. I think Ohians are crazy about pumpkins. They never get sick from all the different dishes made from all the different squashes. There\'s pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin bread, pumpkin casserole, pumpkin soup and pumpkin pie. When I had had enough of pumpkin and craved for a few serene moments, I took a stroll down the High St. The shops close after sunset, an ideal time to window shop. I used to take long walks with my brothers and sister. When it got really cold, we would huddle together and watch the smoke coming out of the chimneys from distant homes. The burning wood mixed with the moist air warmed us. It was the best feeling. Our mind is a powerful possessor of personal events. Powerful enough to remind us, teach us, hold us slaves, or free us. Along with our memories of loving childhood relationships, there are special places that captivate and hold a sacred meaning for us. Not because they are holy, only because something wonderful happened there. In recalling these places, our memories evoke reverent feelings filled with joy and warmth. Feelings so good, we want to revisit them over and over again. I cherish every moment of the days gone by. When I am down from daily stress, I find solace in my memories. |