Summer Memories

Last night I was at ward prayer writing a  nice note to someone when a smell hit me.  I couldn't place it at all, but I was overwhelmed with nostalgia.  It smelled fresh like summer and playing outside and camping in the backyard while Dad told the mayonnaise man story (maybe I'll tell you sometime, it's terrifying).  Not knowing what the smell was frustrating so I wondered allowed what it was, "Something smells like summer."  My home teacher Preston answered simply, "It's mint" as he grabbed a leaf from the flower bed and handed it to me.  I held the leaf up close to my face and inhaled deeply.  There it was.  Mint.  Summertime.  Memories.

My mom always grew mint (still does) under the spigot on the outside of our house.  I don't know how mint does it, but it grows all summer long.  When we were really young my sisters and I would pick it to make "wilderness stew" to go with our elaborate outdoor camping games (not that we would have eaten it as the other ingredients included rocks, sticks, grass, mud, and dandelions).  My grandmother dries her mint and boils it for tea all summer long.  Every time we turn on the hose the water splashes into the mint and the aroma is released.  Smelling that little mint leaf last night I was overwhelmed by these memories and taken back to a time that was simpler and in many ways happier; a time of family and neon green shorts and drinking from the hose.

Preston grabbed a piece of rosemary soon after and as I smelled that piece I remembered the herb-stuffed pork loin Mom tried (and succeeded at) making five or six years ago when she started growing lots of herbs in her garden.

I know that studies show smells bring back memories faster than pretty much any other sense, but I was not prepared to be taken back so dramatically and immediately from last night to my childhood.  The experience was a welcome (albeit brief) escape from unfriendly reality.