Every year about this time I step outside, take a deep breathe, and smell that smell. Each year it is a smell that triggers a memory almost as old as I am.
It is not of flowers, or gardening. Nor does it concern the balance between winter's dark and summer's light. It isn't about the exuberant energy about to wash over me, or a Saxon goddess, or fertility. Nope.
The memory that comes to me about this time every year is about playing marbles.
This persistent memory etched into the folds of my brain was formed in my elementary school days. Life was good, and it was one of the happiest times of my life.
I lived 3 city blocks from school, so walked to and from there every day. That meant being outside and noticing things, like the light and heat returning. I felt safe traversing my neighbourhood, and knew that I could, if needed, knock on any door and get help.
Once at school, my dad was the principal, so the classroom and school grounds felt like an extension of home. It was a carefree and innocent time.
At the end of every winter I would break out my big bag of marbles and count the agates, crystals, steelies, cateyes and boulders. My brothers and I would compare our caches of glassy globes, ready to bring to school when the time was right.
After long, cold winters, the student body became restless waiting for warmer weather. When we went outside for recess, it was that smell that you wanted to smell.
It came in the moment after the snow melted, and the ground began to thaw. And then, after a few sunny days, the glorious time had arrived that everyone had been waiting for since the marble bag had been put away for the winter.
That unique smell advertised the fact that the playing field had thawed, and dried out sufficiently. It was time for marbles again, and the joy in the classroom was palpable. We couldn't wait to get outside.
That is what the little boy in me thinks about every year when I am outside and smell that distinctive odour of the landscape waking up. It is a simple, powerful memory that never ceases to bring me joy.
Happy spring, everyone. It's time to play.
What a wonderful memory! Kids played marbles at school in my day too -- as a girl I played a bit, but it was pretty much the domain of the boys. Have been thinking if there is a smell that reminds me of spring, and I don't really have one. But the smell of warm strawberries sure means summer to me! A couple more months before that lovely smell. Thanks for the great post and Happy Spring to you and Linda! - Mary
ReplyDeleteMmmm. Strawberries. Looking forward to canning jam this June.
DeleteWhat sweet memory, I remember no self respecting boy would be without his bag of marbles.
ReplyDeleteThose were good times.
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